UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


THE  GIFT  OF 

MAY  TREAT  MORRISON 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

ALEXANDER  F  MORRISON 


WASHINGTON    IRVING 


CRAYON    PAPERS    and   A 

TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES 
By  WASHINGTON  IRVING 


R.  F.  FENNO  &  COMPANY:  PUB- 
LISHERS :  9  &  ii  E.  SIXTEENTH 
STREET  :  NEW  YORK  CITY  :  1900 


I  J 
10(00 


THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

,MOUNT  JOT -     5 

THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE 41 

DON  JUAN— A  Spectral  Research 70 

BROEK  ;  OR  THE  DUTCH  PARADISE 78 

SKETCHES  IN  PARIS,  1828— My  French  Neighbor;  the  Englishman  at  Paris;  Eng- 
lish and  French  Character;  the  Tuileries  and  Windsor  Castle;  the  Field  of 

Waterloo;  Paris  at  the  Restoration 83 

AMERICAN  RESEARCHES  IN  ITALY— Life  of  Tasso;  Recovery  of  a  Lost  Portrait  of 

^       Dante 101 

THE  TAKING  or  THE  \  UIL 106 

'    THE  CHARMING  LETORIERES 118 

\i    THE  EARLY  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD 116 

THE  SEMINOLBS— Origin  of  the  White,  Red,  and  Black  Men ;  the  Conspiracy  of 

^      Neamathla.... , 144 

K/S  LETTER  PROM  GRANADA 155 

K*  ABDERAHMAN,  FOUNDER  OP  THE  DYNASTY  OF  THE  OMMIADES  IN  SPAIN 161 

^v  THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL 179 

THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE 189 

N.     A.  CONTENTED  MAN 196 


THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 


BY 


GEOFFREY    ORATOR,    GENT. 


MOUNT  JOY: 

OR  SOME  PASSAGES  OUT  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  A  CASTLE-BUILDER. 

I  WAS  born  among  romantic  scenery,  in  one  of  the  wildest 
parts  of  the  Hudson,  which  at  that  time  was  not  so  thickly 
settled  as  at  present.  My  father  was  descended  from  one  of  the 
old  Huguenot  families,  that  came  over  to  this  country  on  the 
revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantz.  He  lived  in  a  style  of  easy, 
rural  independence,  on  a  patrimonial  estate  that  had  been  for 
two  or  three  generations  in  the  family.  He  was  an  indolent, 
good-natured  man,  who  took  the  world  as  it  went,  and  had  a 
kind  of  laughing  philosophy,  that  parried  all  rubs  and  mis- 
haps, and  served  him  in  the  place  of  wisdom.  This  was  the 
part  of  his  character  least  to  my  taste ;  for  I  was  of  an  enthusi- 
astic, excitable  temperament,  prone  to  kindle  up  with  new 
schemes  and  projects,  and  he  was  apt  to  dash  my  sallying 
enthusiasm  by  some  unlucky  joke ;  so  that  whenever  I  was  in 
a  glow  with  any  sudden  excitement,  I  stood  in  mortal  dread  of 
his  good-humor. 

Yet  he  indulged  me  in  every  vagary ;  for  I  was  an  only  son, 
and  of  course  a  personage  of  importance  in  the  household.  I 
had  two  sisters  older  than  myself,  and  one  younger.  The 
former  were  educated  at  New  York,  under  the  eye  of  a 
maiden  aunt;  the  latter  remained  at  home,  and  was  my 
cherished  playmate,  the  companion  of  rny  thoughts.  We 
were  two  imaginative  little  beings,  of  quick  susceptibility, 
and  prone  to  see  wonders  and  mysteries  in  everything  around 
us.  Scarce  had  we  learned  to  read,  when  our  mother  made 
us  holiday  presents  of  all  the  nursery  literature  of  the  day; 


8  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

which  at  that  time  eoi:is*sted  of  little  hooks  covered  with  gilt 
paper,  adorned ..with  "cuts,"  and  filled  with  tales  of  fairies, 
giantSj/an-d.  enchanters.  What  draughts  of  delightful  fiction 
did  we  then  inhale !  My  sister  Sophy  was  of  a  soft  and  ten- 
der nature.  She  would  weep  over  the  woes  of  the  Children 
in  the  Wood,  or  quake  at  the  dark  romance  of  Bluo-Beard, 
and  the  terrible  mysteries  of  the  blue  chamber.  But  I  was 
all  for  enterprise  and  adventure.  I  burned  to  emulate  the 
deeds  of  that  heroic  prince  who  delivered  the  white  cat  from 
her  enchantment;  or  he  of  no  less  royal  blood,  and  doughty 
enterprise,  who  broke  the  charmed  slumber  of  the  Beauty  in 
the  Wood ! 

The  house  in  which  we  lived  was  just  the  kind  of  place  to 
foster  such  propensities.  It  was  a  venerable  mansion,  half 
villa,  half  farmhouse.  The  oldest  part  was  of  stone,  with 
loop-holes  for  musketry,  having  served  as  a  family  fortress 
in  the  time  of  the  Indians.  To  this  there  had  been  made  vari- 
ous additions,  some  of  brick,  some  of  wood,  according  to  the 
exigencies  of  the  moment;  so  that  it  was  full  of  nooks  and 
crooks,  and  chambers  of  all  sorts  and  sizes.  It  was  buried 
among  willows,  elms,  and  cherry  trees,  and  surrounded  with 
roses  and  hollyhocks,  with  honeysuckle  and  sweet-brier 
clambering  about  every  window.  A  brood  of  hereditary 
pigeons  sunned  themselves  upon  the  roof;  hereditary  swal- 
lows and  martins  built  about  the  eaves  and  chimneys;  and 
hereditary  bees  hummed  about  the  flower-beds. 

Under  the  influence  of  our  story-books  every  object  around 
us  now  assumed  a  new  character,  and  a  charmed  interest. 
The  wild  flowers  were  no  longer  the  mere  ornaments  of  the 
fields,  or  the  resorts  of  the  toilful  bee ;  they  were  the  lurking 
places  of  fairies.  We  would  watch  the  humming-bird,  as  it 
hovered  around  the  trumpet  creeper  at  our  porch,  and  the 
butterfly  as  it  flitted  up  into  the  blue  air,  above  the  sunny 
tree  tops,  and  fancy  them  some  of  the  tiny  beings  from  fairy 
land.  I  would  call  to  mind  all  that  I  had  read  of  Eobin  Good- 
fellow  and  his  power  of  transformation.  Oh  how  I  envied  him 
that  power !  How  I  longed  to  be  able  to  compress  my  form 
into  utter  littleness ;  to  ride  the  bold  dragon-fly ;  swing  on  the 
tall  bearded  grass ;  follow  the  ant  into  his  subterraneous  habi- 
tation, or  dive  into  the  cavernous  depths  of  the  honeysuckle ! 

While  I  was  yet  a  mere  child  I  was  sent  to  a  daily  school, 
about  two  miles  distant.  The  school-house  was  on  the  edge  of 
a  wood,  close  by  a  brook  oy.erh.ung  with  birches,  alders,  and 


MOUNT  JOT.  7 

dwarf  willows.  We  of  the  school  who  lived  at  some  distance 
came  with  our  dinners  put  up  in  little  baskets.  In  the  in- 
tervals of  school  hours  we  would  gathor  round  a  spring, 
under  a  tuft  of  hazel-bushes,  and  have  a  kind  of  picnic; 
interchanging  the  rustic  dainties  with  which  our  provident 
mothers  had  fitted  us  out.  Then  when  our  joyous  repast  was 
over,  and  my  companions  were  disposed  for  play,  I  would 
draw  forth  one  of  my  cherished  story-books,  stretch  myself 
on  the  greensward,  and  soon  lose  myself  in  its  bewitching 
contents. 

I  became  an  oracle  among  my  schoolmates  on  account  of  my 
superior  erudition,  and  soon  imparted  to  them  the  contagion 
of  my  infected  fancy.  Often  in  the  evening,  after  school 
hours,  we  would  sit  on  the  trunk  of  some  fallen  tree  in  the 
woods,  and  vie  with  each  other  in  telling  extravagant  stories, 
until  the  whip-poor-will  began  his  nightly  moaning,  and  the 
fire-flies  sparkled  in  the  gloom.  Then  came  the  perilous  jour- 
ney homeward.  What  delight  we  would  take  in  getting  up 
wanton  panics  in  some  dusky  part  of  the  wood;  scampering 
like  frightened  deer;  pausing  to  take  breath;  renewing  the 
panic,  and  scampering  off  again,  wild  with  fictitious  terror ! 

Our  greatest  trial  was  to  pass  a  dark,  lonely  pool,  covered 
with  pond-lilies,  peopled  with  bull-frogs  and  water  snakes,  and 
haunted  by  two  white  cranes.  Oh !  the  terrors  of  that  pond ! 
How  our  little  hearts  would  beat  as  we  approached  it ;  what 
fearful  glances  we  would  throw  around  1  And  if  by  chance  a 
plash  of  a  wild  duck,  or  the  guttural  twang  of  a  bull-frog, 
struck  our  ears,  as  we  stole  quietly  by— away  we  sped,  nor 
paused  until  completely  out  of  the  woods.  Then,  when  I 
reached  home  what  a  world  of  adventures  and  imaginary 
terrors  would  I  have  to  relate  to  my  sister  Sophy ! 

As  I  advanced  in  years,  this  turn  of  mind  increased  upon 
me,  and  became  more  confirmed.  I  abandoned  myself  to  the 
impulses  of  a  romantic  imagination,  which  controlled  my 
studies,  and  gave  a  bias  to  all  my  habits.  My  father  observed 
me  continually  with  a  book  in  my  hand,  and  satisfied  himself 
that  I  was  a  profound  student;  but  what  were  my  studies? 
Works  of  fiction;  tales  of  chivalry;  voyages  of  discovery; 
travels  in  the  East;  everything,  in  short,  that  partook  of  adven- 
ture and  romance.  I  well  remember  with  what  zest  I  entered 
apon  that  part  of  my  studies  which  treated  of  the  heathen 
mythology,  and  particularly  of  the  sylvan  deities.  Then  in- 
ieed  my  school  books  became  dear  to  me.  The  neighborhood 


8  THE  CEA  TON  PAPERS. 

was  well  calculated  to  foster  the  reveries  of  a  mind  like  mine. 
It  abounded  with  solitary  retreats,  wild  streams,  solemn  for- 
ests, and  silent  valleys.  I  would  ramble  about  for  a  whole  day 
with  a  volume  of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses  in  my  pocket,  and 
work  myself  into  a  kind  of  self-delusion,  so  as  to  identify  the 
surrounding  scenes  with  those  of  which  I  had  just  been  read- 
ing. I  would  loiter  about  a  brook  that  glided  through  the 
shadowy  depths  of  the  forest,  picturing  it  to  myself  the  haunt 
of  Naiads.  I  would  steal  round  some  bushy  copse  that  opened 
upon  a  glade,  as  if  I  expected  to  come  suddenly  upon  Diana 
and  her  nymphs,  or  to  behold  Pan  and  his  satyrs  bounding, 
with  whoop  and  halloo,  through  the  woodland.  I  would  throw 
myself,  during  the  panting  heats  of  a  summer  noon,  under  the 
shade  of  some  wide-spreading  tree,  and  muse  and  dream  away 
the  hours,  in  a  state  of  mental  intoxication.  I  drank  in  the 
very  light  of  day,  as  nectar,  and  my  soul  seemed  to  bathe  with 
ecstasy  in  the  deep  blue  of  a  summer  sky. 

In  these  wanderings,  nothing  occurred  to  jar  my  feelings,  or 
bring  me  back  to  the  realities  of  life.  There  is  a  repose  in  our 
mighty  forests  that  gives  full  scope  to  the  imagination.  Now 
and  then  I  would  hear  the  distant  sound  of  the  wood-cutter's 
axe,  or  the  crash  of  some  tree  which  he  had  laid  low;  but  these 
noises,  echoing  along  the  quiet  landscape,  could  easily  be 
wrought  by  fancy  into  harmony  with  its  illusions.  In  general, 
however,  the  woody  recesses  of  the  neighborhood  were  pecu- 
liarly wild  and  unfrequented.  I  could  ramble  for  a  whole 
day,  without  coming  upon  any  traces  of  cultivation.  The 
partridge  of  the  wood  scarcely  seemed  to  shun  my  path,  and 
the  squirrel,  from  his  nut-tree,  would  gaze  at  me  for  an 
instant,  with  sparkling  eye,  as  if  wondering  at  the  unwonted 
intrusion. 

I  cannot  help  dwelling  on  this  delicious  period  of  my  Me ; 
when  as  yet  I  had  known  no  sorrow,  nor  experienced  any 
worldly  care.  I  have  since  studied  much,  both  of  books  and 
men,  and  of  course  have  grown  too  wise  to  be  so  easily  pleased ; 
yet  with  all  my  wisdom,  I  must  confess  I  look  back  with  a 
secret  feeling  of  regret  to  the  days  of  happy  ignorance,  before 
I  had  begun  to  be  a  philosopher. 


It  must  be  evident  that  I  was  in  a  hopeful  training  for  one 
who  was  to  descend  into  the  arena  of  life,  and  wrestle  with  the 
world.  The  tutor,  also,  who  superintended  my  studies  in  the 


MOUNTJ07.  g 

more  advanced  stage  of  my  education  was  just  fitted  to  com- 
plete the  fata  morgana  which  was  forming  in  my  mind.  Hiq 
name  was  Glencoe.  He  was  a  pale,  melancholy-looking  man, 
about  forty  years  of  age ;  a  native  of  Scotland,  liberally  edu- 
cated, and  who  had  devoted  himself  to  the  instruction  of  youth 
from  taste  rather  than  necessity ;  for,  as  he  said,  he  loved  the 
human  heart,  and  delighted  to  study  it  in  its  earlier  impulses. 
My  two  elder  sisters,  having  returned  home  from  a  city  board- 
ing-school, were  likewise  placed  under  his  care,  to  direct  their 
reading  in  history  and  belle-lettres. 

We  all  soon  became  attached  to  Glencoe.  It  is  true,  we  were 
at  first  somewhat  prepossessed  against  him.  His  meagre,  pal- 
lid countenance,  his  broad  pronunciation,  his  inattention  to 
the  little  forms  of  society,  and  an  awkward  and  embarrassed 
manner,  on  first  acquaintance,  were  much  against  him;  but 
we  soon  discovered  that  under  this  unpromising  exterior  existed 
the  kindest  urbanity  of  temper;  the  warmest  sympathies;  the 
most  enthusiastic  benevolence.  His  mind  was  ingenious  and 
acute  His  reading  had  been  various,  but  more  abstruse  than 
profound ;  his  memory  was  stored,  on  all  subjects,  with  facts, 
theories,  and  quotations,  and  crowded  with  crude  materials  for 
thinking.  These,  in  a  moment  of  excitement,  would  be,  as  it 
were,  melted  down,  and  poured  forth  in  the  lava  of  a  heated 
imagination.  At  such  moments,  the  change  in  the  whole  man 
was  wonderful.  His  meagre  form  would  acquire  a  dignity  and 
grace ;  his  long,  pale  visage  would  flash  with  a  hectic  glow ;  his 
eyes  would  beam  with  intense  speculation;  and  there  would  be 
pathetic  tones  and  deep  modulations  in  his  voice,  that  delighted 
the  ear,  and  spoke  movingly  to  the  heart. 

But  what  most  endeared  him  to  us  was  the  kindness  and 
sympathy  with  which  he  entered  into  all  our  interests  and 
wishes.  Instead  of  curbing  and  checking  our  young  imagina- 
tions with  the  reins  of  sober  reason,  he  was  a  little  too  apt  to 
catch  the  impulse  and  be  hurried  away  with  us.  He  could  not 
withstand  the  excitement  of  any  sally  of  feeling  or  fancy,  and 
was  prone  to  lend  heightening  tints  to  the  illusive  coloring  of 
youthful  anticipations. 

Under  his  guidance  my  sisters  and  myself  soon  entered  upon 
a  more  extended  range  of  studies ;  but  while  they  wandered, 
with  delighted  minds,  through  the  wide  field  of  history  and 
belles-lettres,  a  nobler  walk  was  opened  to  my  superior  intel- 
lect. 

The  mind  of  Glencoe  presented  a  singular  mixture  of  phi- 


10  THE  CRA  TON  PAPERS. 

losophy  and  poetry.  He  was  fond  of  metaphysics  and  prone 
to  indulge  in  abstract  speculations,  though  his  metaphysics 
were  somewhat  fine  spun  and  fanciful,  and  his  speculations 
were  apt  to  partake  of  what  my  father  most  irreverently 
termed  "humbug."  For  my  part,  I  delighted  in  them,  and 
the  more  especially  because  they  set  my  father  to  sleep  and 
completely  confounded  my  sisters.  I  entered  with  my  accus- 
tomed eagerness  into  this  new  branch  of  study.  Metaphysics 
were  now  my  passion.  My  sisters  attempted  to  accompany 
me,  but  they  soon  faltered,  and  gave  out  before  they  had  got 
half  way  through  Smith's  Theory  of  the  Moral  Sentiments.  I, 
however,  went  on,  exulting  in  my  strength.  Glencoe  supplied 
me  with  books,  and  I  devoured  them  with  appetite,  if  not  diges- 
tion. We  walked  and  talked  together  under  the  trees  before 
the  house,  or  sat  apart,  like  Milton's  angels,  and  held  high  con- 
verse upon  themes  beyond  the  grasp  of  ordinary  intellects. 
Glencoe  possessed  a  kind  of  philosophic  chivalry,  in  imitation 
of  the  old  peripatetic  sages,  and  was  continually  dreaming  of 
romantic  enterprises  in  morals,  and  splendid  systems  for  the 
improvement  of  society.  He  had  a  fanciful  mode  of  illustrat- 
ing abstract  subjects,  peculiarly  to  my  taste;  clothing  them 
with  the  language  of  poetry,  and  throwing  round  them  almost 
the  magic  hues  of  fiction.  "How  charming,"  thought  I,  "is 
divine  philosophy ;"  not  harsh  and  crabbed,  as  dull  fools  sup- 
pose, 

"  But  a  perpetual  feast  of  nectar'd  sweets, 
Where  no  crude  surfeit  reigns." 

I  felt  a  wonderful  self-complacency  at  being  on  such  excel- 
lent terms  with  a  man  whom  I  considered  on  a  parallel  with 
the  sages  of  antiquity,  and  looked  down  with  a  sentiment  of 
pity  on  the  feebler  intellects  of  my  sisters,  who  could  compre- 
hend nothing  of  metaphysics.  It  is  true,  when  I  attempted  to 
study  them  by  myself,  I  was  apt  to  get  in  a  fog;  but  when 
Glencoe  came  to  my  aid,  everything  was  soon  as  clear  to  me 
as  day.  My  ear  drank  in  the  beauty  of  his  words ;  my  imagi- 
nation was  dazzled  with  the  splendor  of  his  illustrations.  It 
caught  up  the  sparkling  sands  of  poetry  that  glittered  through 
his  speculations,  and  mistook  them  for  the  golden  ore  of  wis- 
dom. Struck  with  the  facility  with  which  I  seemed  to  imbibe 
and  relish  the  most  abstract  doctrines,  I  conceived  a  still  higher 
opinion  of  my  mental  powers,  and  was  convinced  that  I  also 
was  a  t)hilosoT)her. 


MOUNT  JOY.  11 

I  was  now  verging  toward  man's  estate,  and  though  my  edu- 
cation had  been  extremely  irregular — following  the  caprices  of 
my  humor,  which  I  mistook  for  the  impulses  of  my  genius — 
yet  I  was  regarded  with  wonder  and  delight  by  my  mother  and 
sisters,  who  considered  me  almost  as  wise  and  infallible  as  I 
considered  myself.  This  high  opinion  of  me  was  strengthened 
by  a  declamatory  habit,  which  made  me  an  oracle  and  orator 
at  the  domestic  board.  The  tune  was  now  at  hand,  however, 
that  was  to  put  my  philosophy  to  the  test. 

We  had  passed  through  a  long  winter,  and  the  spring  at 
length  opened  upon  us  with  unusual  sweetness.  The  soft 
serenity  of  the  weather;  the  beauty  of  the  surrounding  coun- 
try ;  the  joyous  notes  of  the  birds ;  the  balmy  breath  of  flower 
and  blossom,  all  combined  to  fill  my  bosom  with  indistinct  sen- 
sations, and  nameless  wishes.  Amid  the  soft  seductions  of  the 
season,  I  lapsed  into  a  state  of  utter  indolence,  both  of  body 
and  mind. 

Plulosophy  had  lost  its  charms  for  me.  Metaphysics — faugh ! 
I  tried  to  study ;  took  down  volume  after  volume,  ran  my  eye 
vacantly  over  a  few  pages,  and  threw  them  by  with  distaste. 
I  loitered  about  the  house,  with  my  hands  in  my  pockets,  and 
an  air  of  complete  vacancy.  Something  was  necessary  to  make 
me  happy;  but  what  was  that  something?  I  sauntered  to  the 
apartments  of  my  sisters,  hoping  their  conversation  might 
amuse  me.  They  had  walked  out,  and  the  room  was  vacant. 
On  the  table  lay  a  volume  which  they  had  been  reading.  It 
was  a  novel.  I  had  never  read  a  novel,  having  conceived  a 
contempt  for  works  of  the  kind,  from  hearing  them  universally 
condemned.  It  is  true,  I  had  remarked  that  they  were  as  uni- 
versally read ;  but  I  considered  them  beneath  the  attention  of 
a  philosopher,  and  never  would  venture  to  read  them,  lest  I 
should  lessen  my  mental  superiority  in  the  eyes  of  my  sisters. 
Nay,  I  had  taken  up  a  work  of  the  kind  now  and  then,  when  I 
knew  my  sisters  were  observing  me,  looked  into  it  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  laid  it  down,  with  a  slight  supercilious  smile. 
On  the  present  occasion,  out  of  mere  listlessness,  I  took  up  the 
volume  and  turned  over  a  few  of  the  first  pages.  I  thought  I 
heard  some  one  coming,  and  laid  it  down.  I  was  mistaken;  no 
one  was  near,  and  what  I  had  read,  tempted  my  curiosity  to 
read  a  little  further.  I  leaned  against  a  window-frame,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  was  completely  lost  in  the  story.  How  long  I 
stood  there  reading  I  know  not,  but  I  believe  for  nearly  two 
hours.  Suddenly  I  heard  my  sisters  on  the  stairs,  when  I 


12  THE  CHATON  PAPERS. 

thrust  the  book  into  my  bosom,  and  the  two  other  volumes 
which  lay  near  into  my  pockets,  and  hurried  out  of  the  house 
to  my  beloved  woods.  Here  I  remained  all  day  beneath  the 
trees,  bewildered,  bewitched,  devouring  the  contents  of  these 
delicious  volumes,  and  only  returned  to  the  house  when  it  was 
too  dark  to  peruse  their  pages. 

This  novel  finished,  I  replaced  it  in  my  sisters'  apartment, 
and  looked  for  others.  Their  stock  was  ample,  for  they  had 
brought  home  all  that  were  current  in  the  city ;  but  my  appe- 
tite demanded  an  immense  supply.  All  this  course  of  reading 
was  carried  on  clandestinely,  for  I  was  a  little  ashamed  of  it, 
and  fearful  that  my  wisdom  might  be  called  in  question ;  but 
this  very  privacy  gave  it  additional  zest.  It  was  ' '  bread  eaten 
in  secret ;"  it  had  the  charm  of  a  private  amour. 

But  think  what  must  have  been  the  effect  of  such  a  course  of 
reading  on  a  youth  of  my  temperament  and  turn  of  mind;  in- 
dulged, too,  amid  romantic  scenery  and  in  the  romantic  season 
of  the  year.  It  seemed  as  if  I  had  entered  upon  a  new  scene 
of  existence.  A  train  of  combustible  feelings  were  lighted  up 
in  me,  and  my  soul  was  all  tenderness  and  passion.  Never 
was  youth  more  completely  love-sick,  though  as  yet  it  was  a 
mere  general  sentiment,  and  wanted  a  definite  object.  Unfor- 
tunately, our  neighborhood  was  particularly  deficient  in  female 
society,  and  I  languished  in  vain  for  some  divinity  to  whom  I 
might  offer  up  this  most  uneasy  burden  of  affections.  I  was  at 
one  tune  seriously  enamored  of  a  lady  whom  I  saw  occasion- 
ally in  my  rides,  reading  at  the  window  of  a  country-seat ;  and 
actually  serenaded  her  with  my  flute ;  when,  to  my  confusion, 
I  discovered  that  she  was  old  enough  to  be  my  mother.  It  was 
a  sad  damper  to  my  romance ;  especially  as  my  father  heard 
of  it,  and  made  it  the  subject  of  one  of  those  household  jokes 
which  he  was  apt  to  serve  up  at  every  meal-time. 

I  soon  recovered  from  this  check,  however,  but  it  was  only 
to  relapse  into  a  state  of  amorous  excitement.  I  passed  whole 
days  in  the  fields,  and  along  the  brooks ;  for  there  is  something 
in  the  tender  passion  that  makes  us  alive  to  the  beauties  of 
nature.  A  soft  sunshiny  morning  infused  a  sort  of  rapture 
into  my  breast.  I  flung  open  my  arms,  like  the  Grecian  youth 
in  Ovid,  as  if  I  would  take  in  and  embrace  the  balmy  atmos- 
phere.* The  song  of  the  birds  melted  me  to  tenderness.  I 
would  lie  by  the  side  of  some  rivulet  for  hours,  and  form  gar- 

*  Ovid's  "  MeUunorptMNjes."  Book  vn. 


MOUNT  JOT.  1<J 

lands  of  the  flowers  on  its  banks,  and  muse  on  ideal  beauties, 
and  sigh  from  the  crowd  of  undefined  emotions  that  swelled 
my  bosom. 

In  this  state  of  amorous  delirium,  I  was  strolling  one  morn- 
ing along  a  beautiful  wild  brook,  which  I  had  discovered  in  a 
glen.  There  was  one  place  where  a  small  waterfall,  leaping 
from  among  rocks  into  a  natural  basin,  made  a  scene  such  as  a 
poet  might  have  chosen  as  the  haunt  of  some  shy  Naiad.  It 
was  here  I  usually  retired  to  banquet  on  my  novels.  In  visiting 
the  place  this  morning  I  traced  distinctly,  on  the  margin  of  the 
basin,  which  was  of  fine  clear  sand,  the  prints  of  a  female  foot 
of  the  most  slender  and  delicate  proportions.  This  was  suffi- 
cient for  an  imagination  like  mine.  Robinson  Crusoe  himself, 
when  he  discovered  the  print  of  a  savage  foot  on  the  beach  of 
his  lonely  island,  could  not  have  been  more  suddenly  assailed 
with  thick-coming  fancies. 

I  endeavored  to  track  the  steps,  but  they  only  passed  for  a 
few  paces  along  the  fine  sand,  and  then  were  lost  among  the 
herbage.  I  remained  gazing  in  reverie  upon  this  passing  trace 
of  loveliness.  It  evidently  was  not  made  by  any  of  my  sisters, 
for  they  knew  nothing  of  this  haunt;  beside,  the  foot  was 
smaller  than  theirs;  it  was  remarkable  for  its  beautiful  deli- 
cacy. 

My  eye  accidentally  caught  two  or  three  half -withered  wild 
flowers  lying  on  the  ground.  The  unknown  nymph  had 
doubtless  dropped  them  from  her  bosom!  Here  was  a  new 
document  of  taste  and  sentiment.  I  treasured  them  up  as 
invaluable  relics.  The  place,  too,  where  I  found  them,  was 
remarkably  picturesque,  and  the  most  beautiful  part  of  the 
brook.  It  was  overhung  with  a  fine  elm,  entwined  with  grape- 
vines. She  who  could  select  such  a  spot,  who  could  delight  in 
wild  brooks,  and  wild  flowers,  and  silent  solitudes,  must  have 
fancy,  and  feeling,  and  tenderness ;  and  with  all  these  qualities, 
she  must  be  beautiful ! 

But  who  could  be  this  Unknown,  that  had  thus  passed  by,  as 
in  a  morning  dream,  leaving  merely  flowers  and  fairy  footsteps 
to  tell  of  her  loveliness?  There  was  a  mystery  in  it  that  be- 
wildered me.  It  was  so  vague  and  disembodied,  like  those 
"airy  tongues  that  syllable  men's  names"  in  solitude.  Every 
attempt  to  solve  the  mystery  was  vain.  I  could  hear  of  no 
being  in  the  neighborhood  to  whom  this  trace  could  be 
ascribed.  I  haunted  the  spot,  and  became  daily  more  and 
more  enamored.  Never,  surely,  was  passion  more  pure  and 


14  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

spiritual,  and  never  lover  in  more  dubious  situation.    My  case 
could  be  compared  only  to  that  of  the  amorous  prince  in  the 
fairy  tale  of  Cinderella ;  but  he  had  a  glass  slipper  on  which  to 
lavish  his  tenderness.     I,  alas !  was  in  love  with  a  footstep  I 
The  imagination  is  alternately  a  cheat  and  a  dupe;   nay, 


more,  it  is  the  most  subtle  of  cheats,  for  it  cheats  itself  and 
becomes  the  dupe  of  its  own  delusions.  It  conjures  up  "airy 
nothings,"  gives  to  them  a  "local  habitation  and  a  name,"  and 
then  bows  to  their  control  as  implicitly  as  though  they  were 
realities.  Such  was  now  my  case.  The  good  Numa  could  not 
more  thoroughly  have  persuaded  himself  that  the  nymph 
Egeria  hovered  about  her  sacred  fountain  and  communed  with 
him  in  spirit,  than  I  had  deceived  myself  into  a  kind  of  vision- 
ary intercourse  with  the  airy  phantom  fabricated  in  my  brain. 
I  constructed  a  rustic  seat  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  where  I  had 
discovered  the  footsteps.  I  made  a  kind  of  bower  there,  where 
I  used  to  pass  my  mornings  reading  poetry  and  romances.  I 
carved  hearts  and  darts  on  the  tree,  and  hung  it  with  garlands. 
My  heart  was  full  to  overflowing,  and  wanted  some  faithful 
bosom  into  which  it  might  relieve  itself.  What  is  a  lover 
without  a  confidante?  I  thought  at  once  of  my  sister  Sophy, 
my  early  playmate,  the  sister  of  my  affections.  She  was  so 
reasonable,  too,  and  of  such  correct  feelings,  always  listening 
to  my  words  as  oracular  sayings,  and  admiring  my  scraps  of 
poetry  as  the  very  inspirations  of  the  muse.  From  such  a  de- 
voted, such  a  rational  being,  what  secrets  could  I  have? 

I  accordingly  took  her  one  morning  to  my  favorite  retreat. 
She  looked  around,  with  delighted  surprise,  upon  the  rustic 
seat,  the  bower,  the  tree  carved  with  emblems  of  the  tender 
passion.  She  turned  her  eyes  upon  me  to  inquire  the  meaning. 

"Oh,  Sophy,"  exclaimed  I,  clasping  both  her  hands  in  mine, 
and  looking  earnestly  in  her  face,  "I  am  in  love." 

She  started  with  surprise. 

"Sit  down,"  said  I,  "and  I  will  tell  you  all." 

She  seated  herself  upon  the  rustic  bench,  and  I  went  into  a 
full  history  of  the  footstep,  with  all  the  associations  of  idea 
that  had  been  conjured  up  by  my  imagination. 

Sophy  was  enchanted ;  it  was  like  a  fairy  tale ;  she  had  read 
of  such  mysterious  visitations  in  books,  and  the  loves  thus  con- 
ceived were  always  for  beings  of  superior  order,  and  were 
always  happy.  She  caught  the  illusion  in  all  its  force;  her 
cheek  glowed;  her  eye  brightened. 


MOUNT  JOY.  15 

"  I  dare  say  she's  pretty,"  said  Sophy. 

" Pretty !"  echoed  I,  "she  is  beautiful !"  I  went  through  all 
the  reasoning  by  which  I  had  logically  proved  the  fact  to  my 
own  satisfaction.  I  dwelt  upon  the  evidences  of  her  taste,  her 
sensibility  to  the  beauties  of  nature ;  her  soft  meditative  habit, 
that  delighted  in  solitude.  '"Oh,"  said  I,  clasping  my  hands, 
"to  have  such  a  companion  to  wander  through  these  scenes; 
to  sit  with  her  by  this  murmuring  stream ;  to  wreathe  garlands 
round  her  brows ;  to  hear  the  music  of  her  voice  mingling  with 
the  whisperings  of  these  groves ;  to — " 

"Delightful!  delightful !"  cried  Sophy;  "what  a  sweet  crea- 
ture she  must  be !  She  is  just  the  friend  I  want.  How  I  shall 
dote  upon  her !  Oh,  my  dear  brother !  you  must  not  keep  her 
all  to  yourself.  You  must  let  me  have  some  share  of  her !" 

I  caught  her  to  my  bosom:  "  You  shall— you  shall!"  cried  I, 
"  my  dear  Sophy;  we  will  all  live  for  each  other!" 


The  conversation  with  Sophy  heightened  the  illusions  of  my 
mind;  and  the  manner  in  which  she  had  treated  my  day- 
dream identified  it  with  facts  and  persons  and  gave  it  still 
more  the  stamp  of  reality.  I  walked  about  as  one  in  a  trance, 
heedless  of  the  world  around,  and  lapped  in  an  elysium  of  the 
fancy. 

In  this  mood  I  met  one  morning  with  Glencoe.  He  accosted 
me  with  his  usual  smile,  and  was  proceeding  with  some  gene- 
ral observations,  but  paused  and  fixed  on  me  an  inquiring  eye. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  said  he,  "you  seem  agi- 
tated; has  anything  in  particular  happened?" 

"Nothing,"  said  I,  hesitating;  "  at  least  nothing  worth  com- 
municating to  you." 

"Nay,  my  dear  young  friend,"  said  he,  "whatever  is  of 
sufficient  importance  to  agitate  you  is  worthy  of  being  com- 
municated to  me." 

"Well;  but  my  thoughts  are  running  on  what  you  would 
think  a  frivolous  subject." 

"No  subject  is  frivolous  that  has  the  power  to  awaken 
strong  feelings." 

"What  think  you,"  said  I,  hesitating,  "what  think  you  of 
love?" 

Glencoe  almost  started  at  the  question.  "Do  you  call  that 
a  frivolous  subject?"  replied  he.  "Believe  me,  there  is  none 
fraught  with  such  deep,  such  vital  interest.  If  you  talk. 


16  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

indeed,  of  the  capricious  inclination  awakened  by  the  mere 
charm  of  perishable  beauty,  I  grant  it  to  be  idle  in  the  ex- 
treme; but  that  love  which  springs  from  the  concordant 
sympathies  of  virtuous  hearts;  that  love  which  is  awakened 
by  the  perception  of  moral  excellence,  and  fed  by  meditation 
on  intellectual  as  well  as  personal  beauty;  that  is  a  passion 
which  refines  and  ennobles  the  human  heart.  Oh,  where  is 
there  a  sight  more  nearly  approaching  to  the  intercourse  of 
angels,  than  that  of  two  young  beings,  free  from  the  sins 
and  follies  of  the  world,  mingling  pure  thoughts,  and  looks, 
and  feelings,  and  becoming  as  it  were  soul  of  one  soul  and 
heart  of  one  heart!  How  exquisite  the  silent  converse  that 
they  hold ;  the  soft  devotion  of  the  eye,  that  needs  no  words 
to  make  it  eloquent!  Yes,  my  friend,  if  there  be  anything 
in  this  weary  world  worthy  of  heaven,  it  is  the  pure  bliss  of 
such  a  mutual  affection !" 

The  words  of  my  worthy  tutor  overcame  all  farther  re- 
serve. "Mr.  Glencoe,"  cried  I,  blushing  still  deeper,  "I  am 
in  love." 

"And  is  that  what  you  were  ashamed  to  tell  me?  Oh, 
never  seek  to  conceal  from  your  friend  so  important  a  secret. 
If  your  passion  be  unworthy,  it  is  for  the  steady  hand  of 
friendship  to  pluck  it  forth ;  if  honorable,  none  but  an  enemy 
would  seek  to  stifle  it.  On  nothing  does  the  character  and 
happiness  so  much  depend  as  on  the  first  affection  of  the 
heart.  Were  you  caught  by  some  fleeting  and  superficial 
charm — a  bright  eye,  a  blooming  cheek,  a  soft  voice,  or  a 
voluptuous  form — I  would  warn  you  to  beware ;  I  would  tell 
you  that  beauty  is  but  a  passing  gleam  of  the  morning,  a 
perishable  flower;  that  accident  may  becloud  and  blight  it, 
and  that  at  best  it  must  soon  pass  away.  But  were  you  in 
love  with  such  a  one  as  I  could  describe;  young  in  years,  but 
still  younger  in  f eelings ;  lovely  in  person,  but  as  a  type  of  the 
mind's  beauty ;  soft  in  voice,  in  token  of  gentleness  of  spirit ; 
blooming  in  countenance,  like  the  rosy  tints  of  morning  kind- 
ling with  the  promise  of  a  genial  day ;  and  eye  beaming  with 
the  benignity  of  a  happy  heart ;  a  cheerful  temper,  alive  to  all 
kind  impulses,  and  frankly  diffusing  its  own  felicity ;  a  self- 
poised  mind,  that  needs  not  lean  on  others  for  support ;  an  ele- 
gant taste,  that  can  embellish  solitude,  and  furnish  out  its  own 
enjoyments — " 

"My  dear  sir,"  cried  I,  for  I  could  contain  myself  no  longer, 
" you  have  described  the  very  person!" 


MOUNTJOY.  17 

"  Why,  then,  my  dear  young  friend,"  said  he,  affectionately 
pressing  my  hand,  "  in  God's  name,  love  on!" 


For  the  remainder  of  the  day  I  was  in  some  such  state  of 
dreamy  beatitude  as  a  Turk  is  said  to  enjoy  when  under  the 
influence  of  opium.  It  must  be  already  manifest  how  prone  I 
was  to  bewilder  myself  with  picturings  of  the  fancy,  so  as  to 
confound  them  with  existing  realities.  In  the  present  instance, 
Sophy  and  Glencoe  had  contributed  to  promote  the  transient 
delusion.  Sophy,  dear  girl,  had  as  usual  joined  with  me  in 
my  castle-building,  and  indulged  in  the  same  train  of  imagin- 
ings, while  Glencoe,  duped  by  my  enthusiasm,  firmly  believed 
that  I  spoke  of  a  being  I  had  seen  and  known.  By  their  sym- 
pathy with  my  feelings  they  in  a  manner  became  associated 
with  the  Unknown  in  my  mind,  and  thus  linked  her  with  the 
circle  of  my  intimacy. 

In  the  evening,  our  family  party  was  assembled  in  the  hall, 
to  enjoy  the  refreshing  breeze.  Sophy  was  playing  some 
favorite  Scotch  airs  on  the  piano,  while  Glencoe,  seated  apart, 
with  his  forehead  resting  on  his  hand,  was  buried  in  one  of 
those  pensive  reveries  that  made  him  so  interesting  to  me. 

"What  a  fortunate  being  I  am!"  thought  I,  "blessed  with 
such  a  sister  and  such  a  friend !  I  have  only  to  find  out  this 
amiable  Unknown,  to  wed  her,  and  be  happy !  What  a  para- 
dise will  be  my  home,  graced  with  a  partner  of  such  exquisite 
refinement!  It  will  be  a  perfect  fairy  bower,  buried  among 
sweets  and  roses.  Sophy  shall  live  with  us,  and  be  the  com- 
panion of  all  our  enjoyment.  Glencoe,  too,  shall  no  more  be 
the  solitary  being  that  he  now  appears.  He  shall  have  a 
home  with  us.  He  shall  have  his  study,  where,  when  he 
pleases,  he  may  shut  himself  up  from  the  world,  and  bury  him- 
self in  his  own  reflections.  His  retreat  shall  be  sacred;  no 
one  shall  intrude  there;  no  one  but  myself,  who  will  visit 
him  now  and  then,  in  his  seclusion,  where  we  will  devise 
grand  schemes  together  for  the  improvement  of  mankind. 
How  delightfully  our  days  will  pass,  in  a  round  of  rational 
pleasures  and  elegant  employments !  Sometimes  we  will  have 
music;  sometimes  we  will  read;  sometimes  we  will  wander 
through  the  flower  garden,  when  I  will  smile  with  complacency 
on  every  flower  my  wife  has  planted ;  while  in  the  long  winter 
evenings  the  ladies  will  sit  at  their  work,  and  listen  with 
hushed  attention  to  Glencoe  and  myself,  as  we  discuss  the 
abstruse  doctrines  of  metaphysics." 


18  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

From  this  delectable  reverie,  I  was  startled  by  my  father's 
slapping  me  on  the  shoulder:  "  What  possesses  the  lad?"  cried 
he;  "here  have  I  been  speaking  to  you  half  a  dozen  times, 
without  receiving  an  answer." 

"Pardon  me,  sir,  "replied  I;  "I  was  so  completely  lost  hi 
thought,  that  I  did  not  hear  you." 

"Lost  in  thought!  And  pray  what  were  you  thinking  of? 
Some  of  your  philosophy,  I  suppose." 

"Upon  my  word,"  said  my  sister  Charlotte,  with  an  arch 
laugh,  "  I  suspect  Harry's  in  love  again." 

"And  if  I  were  in  love,  Charlotte,"  said  I,  somewhat  net- 
tled, and  recollecting  Glencoe's  enthusiastic  eulogy  of  the  pas- 
sion, "if  I  were  in  love,  is  that  a  matter  of  jest  and  laughter? 
Is  the  tenderest  and  most  fervid  affection  that  can  animate 
the  human  breast,  to  be  made  a  matter  of  cold-hearted  ridi- 
cule?" 

My  sister  colored.  "  Certainly  not,  brother !— nor  did  I  mean 
to  make  it  so,  or  to  say  anything  that  should  wound  your  feel- 
ings. Had  I  really  suspected  you  had  formed  some  genuine 
attachment,  it  would  have  been  sacred  in  my  eyes;  but — but," 
said  she,  smiling,  as  if  at  some  whimsical  recollection,  "I 
thought  that  you — you  might  be  indulging  in  another  little 
freak  of  the  imagination." 

"I'll  wager  any  money,"  cried  my  father,  "  he  has  fallen  in 
love  again  with  some  old  lady  at  a  window !" 

"  Oh  no !"  cried  my  dear  sister  Sophy,  with  the  most  gracious 
warmth;  "she  is  young  and  beautiful." 

"From  what  I  understand,"  said  Glencoe,  rousing  himself, 
"she  must  be  lovely  in  mind  as  in  person." 

I  found  my  friends  were  getting  me  into  a  fine  scrape.  I 
began  to  perspire  at  every  pore,  and  felt  my  ears  tingle. 

"Well,  but,"  cried  my  father,  "who  is  she? — what  is  she? 
Let  us  hear  something  about  her." 

This  was  no  time  to  explain  so  delicate  a  matter.  I  caught 
up  my  hat,  and  vanished  out  of  the  house. 

The  moment  I  was  in  the  open  air,  and  alone,  my  heart  up- 
braided me.  Was  this  respectful  treatment  to  my  father — to 
such  a  father,  too— who  had  always  regarded  me  as  the  pride 
of  his  age — the  staff  of  his  hopes  ?  It  is  true,  he  was  apt  some- 
times to  laugh  at  my  enthusiastic  flights,  and  did  not  treat  my 
philosophy  with  due  respect ;  but  when  had  he  ever  thwarted 
a  wish  of  my  heart  ?  Was  I  then  to  act  with  reserve  toward 
him,  in  a  matter  which  might  affect  the  whole  current  of  my 


MOUNT  JOT.  19 

future  life  ?  "I  have  done  wrong,"  thought  I;  "but  it  is  not 
too  late  to  remedy  it.  I  will  hasten  back  and  open  my  wholo 
heart  to  my  father !" 

I  returned  accordingly,  and  was  just  on  the  point  of  entering 
the  house,  with  my  heart  full  of  filial  piety,  and  a  contrite 
speech  upon  my  lips,  when  I  heard  a  burst  of  obstreperous 
laughter  from  my  father,  and  a  loud  titter  from  my  two  elder 
sisters. 

"A  footstep!"  shouted  he,  as  soon  as  he  could  recover  him- 
self; "in  love  with  a  footstep !  Why,  this  beats  the  old  lady  at 
the  window !"  And  then  there  was  another  appalling  burst  of 
laughter.  Had  it  been  a  clap  of  thunder,  it  could  hardly  have 
astounded  me  more  completely.  Sophy,  in  the  simplicity  of 
her  heart,  had  told  all,  and  had  set  my  father's  risible  pro- 
pensities in  full  action. 

Never  was  poor  mortal  so  thoroughly  crestfallen  as  myself. 
The  whole  delusion  was  at  an  end.  I  drew  off  silently  from  the 
house,  shrinking  smaller  and  smaller  at  every  fresh  peal  of 
laughter;  and  wandering  about  until  the  family  had  retired, 
stole  quietly  to  my  bed.  Scarce  any  sleep,  however,  visited 
my  eyes  that  night!  I  lay  overwhelmed  with  mortification, 
and  meditating  how  I  might  meet  the  family  in  the  morning. 
The  idea  of  ridicule  was  always  intolerable  to  me;  but  to 
endure  it  on  a  subject  by  which  my  feelings  had  been  so  much 
excited,  seemed  worse  than  death.  I  almost  determined,  at 
one  time,  to  get  up,  saddle  my  horse,  and  ride  off,  I  knew  not 
whither. 

At  length  I  came  to  a  resolution.  Before  going  down  to 
breakfast,  I  sent  for  Sophy,  and  employed  her  as  ambassador 
to  treat  formally  in  the  matter.  I  insisted  that  the  subject 
should  be  buried  in  oblivion ;  otherwise  I  would  not  show  my 
face  at  table.  It  was  readily  agreed  to;  for  not  one  of  the 
family  would  have  given  me  pain  for  the  world.  They  faith- 
fully kept  their  promise.  Not  a  word  was  said  of  the  matter; 
but  there  were  wry  faces,  and  suppressed  titters,  that  went  to 
my  soul;  and  whenever  my  father. looked  me  in  the  face,  it 
was  with  such  a  tragi-comical  leer — such  an  attempt  to  pull 
down  a  serious  brow  upon  a  whimsical  mouth — that  I  had  a 
thousand  times  rather  he  had  laughed  outright. 


For  a  day  or  two  after  the  mortifying  occurrence  just  re- 
lated, I  kept  as  much  as  possible  out  of  the  way  of  the  family, 


20  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

and  wandered  about  the  fields  and  woods  by  myself.  I  was 
sadly  out  of  tune ;  my  feelings  were  all  jarred  and  unstrung. 
The  birds  sang  from  every  grove,  but  I  took  no  pleasure  in 
their  melody ;  and  the  flowers  of  the  field  bloomed  unheeded 
around  me.  To  be  crossed  in  love,  is  bad  enough;  but  then 
one  can  fly  to  poetry  for  relief,  and  turn  one's  woes  to  account 
in  soul-subduing  stanzas.  But  to  have  one's  whole  passion, 
object  and  all,  annihilated,  dispelled,  proved  to  be  such  stuff  as 
dreams  are  made  of — or,  worse  than  all,  to  be  turned  into  a 
proverb  and  a  jest — what  consolation  is  there  in  such  a  case  ? 

I  avoided  the  fatal  brook  where  I  had  seen  the  footstep.  My 
favorite  resort  was  now  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  where  I  sat 
upon  the  rocks  and  mused  upon  the  current  that  dimpled  by, 
or  the  waves  that  laved  the  shore;  or  watched  the  bright 
mutations  of  the  clouds,  and  the  shifting  lights  and  shadows 
of  the  distant  mountain.  By  degrees  a  returning  serenity 
stole  over  my  feelings ;  and  a  sigh  now  and  then,  gentle  and 
easy,  and  unattended  by  pain,  showed  that  my  heart  was  re- 
covering its  susceptibility. 

As  I  was  sitting  in  this  musing  mood  my  eye  became  gra- 
dually fixed  upon  an  object  that  was  borne  along  by  the  tide. 
It  proved  to  be  a  little  pinnace,  beautifully  modelled,  and 
gayly  painted  and  decorated.  It  was  an  unusual  sight  in  this 
neighborhood,  which  was  rather  lonely ;  indeed,  it  was  rare  to 
Bee  any  pleasure-barks  in  this  part  of  the  river.  As  it  drew 
nearer,  I  perceived  that  there  was  no  one  on  board ;  it  had 
apparently  drifted  from  its  anchorage.  There  was  not  a  breath 
of  air;  the  little  bark  came  floating  along  on  the  glassy  stream, 
wheeling  about  with  the  eddies.  At  length  it  ran  aground, 
almost  at  the  foot  of  the  rock  on  which  I  was  seated.  I  de- 
scended to  the  margin  of  the  river,  and  drawing  the  bark  to 
shore,  admired  its  light  and  elegant  proportions  and  the  taste 
with  which  it  was  fitted  up.  The  benches  were  covered  with 
cushions,  and  its  long  streamer  was  of  silk.  On  one  of  the 
cushions  lay  a  lady's  glove,  of  delicate  size  and  shape,  with 
beautifully  tapered  fingers.  I  instantly  seized  it  and  thrust  it 
in  my  bosom;  it  seemed  a  match  for  the  fairy  footstep  that 
had  so  fascinated  me. 

In  a  moment  all  the  romance  of  my  bosom  was  again  in  a 
glow.  Here  was  one  of  the  very  incidents  of  fairy  tale ;  a  bark 
sent  by  some  invisible  power,  some  good  genius,  or  benevolent 
fairy,  to  waft  me  to  some  delectable  adventure.  I  recollected 
something  of  an  enchanted  bark,  drawn  by  white  swans,  that 


MOUNTJOT.  21 

conveyed  a  knight  down  the  current  of  the  Rhine,  on  some 
enterprise  connected  with  love  and  beauty.  The  glove,  too, 
showed  that  there  was  a  lady  fair  concerned  in  the  present 
adventure.  It  might  be  a  gauntlet  of  defiance,  to  dare  me  to 
the  enterprise. 

In  the  spirit  of  romance  and  the  whim  of  the  moment,  I 
sprang  on  board,  hoisted  the  light  sail,  and  pushed  from  shore. 
As  if  breathed  by  some  presiding  power,  a  light  breeze  at  that 
moment  sprang  up,  swelled  out  the  sail,  and  dallied  with  the 
silken  streamer.  For  a  time  I  glided  along  under  steep  umbra- 
geous banks,  or  across  deep  sequestered  bays;  and  then  stood 
out  over  a  wide  expansion  of  the  river  toward  a  high  rocky 
promontory.  It  was  a  lovely  evening;  the  sun  was  setting  in 
a  congregation  of  clouds  that  threw  the  whole  heavens  in  a 
glow,  and  were  reflected  in  the  river.  I  delighted  myself  with 
all  kinds  of  fantastic  fancies,  as  to  what  enchanted  island,  or 
mystic  bower,  or  necromantic  palace,  I  was  to  be  conveyed  by 
the  fairy  bark. 

In  the  revel  of  my  fancy  I  had  not  noticed  that  the  gorgeous 
congregation  of  clouds  which  had  so  much  delighted  me  was 
in  fact  a  gathering  thunder-gust.  I  perceived  the  truth  too 
late.  The  clouds  came  hurrying  on,  darkening  as  they 
advanced.  The  whole  face  of  nature  was  suddenly  changed, 
and  assumed  that  baleful  and  livid  tint,  predictive  of  a  storm. 
I  tried  to  gain  the  shore,  but  before  I  could  reach  it  a  blast  of 
wind  struck  the  water  and  lashed  it  at  once  into  foam.  The 
next  moment  it  overtook  the  boat.  Alas !  I  was  nothing  of  a 
sailor ;  and  my  protecting  fairy  forsook  me  in  the  moment  of 
peril.  I  endeavored  to  lower  the  sail ;  but  in  so  doing  I  had  to 
quit  the  helm ;  the  bark  was  overturned  in  an  instant,  and  I 
was  thrown  into  the  water.  I  endeavored  to  cling  to  the 
wreck,  but  missed  my  hold;  being  a  poor  swimmer,  I  soon 
found  myself  sinking,  but  grasped  a  light  oar  that  was  floating 
by  me.  It  was  not  sufficient  for  my  siipport;  I  again  sank 
beneath  the  surface ;  there  was  a  rushing  and  bubbling  sound 
in  my  ears,  and  all  sense  forsook  me. 


How  long  I  remained  insensible,  I  know  not.  I  had  a  con- 
fused notion  of  being  moved  and  tossed  about,  and  of  hearing 
strange  beings  and  strange  voices  around  me ;  but  all  was  like 
a  hideous  dream.  When  I  at  length  recovered  full  conscious- 
ness and  perception,  I  found  myself  in  bed  in  a  spacious  cham- 


22  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

ber,  furnished  with  more  taste  than  I  had  been  accustomed  to. 
The  bright  rays  of  a  morning  sun  were  intercepted  by  curtains 
of  a  delicate  rose  color,  that  gave  a  soft,  voluptuous  tinge  to 
every  object.  Not  far  from  my  bed,  on  a  classic  tripod,  was  a 
basket  of  beautiful  exotic  flowers,  breathing  the  sweetest  fra- 
grance. 

' '  Where  am  I  ?    How  came  I  here  ?" 

I  tasked  my  mind  to  catch  at  some  previous  event,  from 
which  I  might  trace  up  the  thread  of  existence  to  the  present 
moment.  By  degrees  I  called  to  mind  the  fairy  pinnace,  my 
daring  embarkation,  my  adventurous  voyage,  and  my  disas- 
trous shipwreck.  Beyond  that,  all  was  chaos.  How  came  I 
here?  What  unknown  region  had  I  landed  upon?  The  people 
that  inhabited  it  must  be  gentle  and  amiable,  and  of  elegant 
tastes,  for  they  loved  downy  beds,  fragrant  flowers,  and  rose- 
colored  curtains. 

While  I  lay  thus  musing,  the  tones  of  a  harp  reached  my  ear. 
Presently  they  were  accompanied  by  a  female  voice.  It  came 
from  the  room  below;  but  in  the  profound  stillness  of  my 
chamber  not  a  modulation  was  lost.  My  sisters  were  all  con- 
sidered good  musicians,  and  sang  very  tolerably ;  but  I  had 
never  heard  a  voice  like  this.  There  was  no  attempt  at  diffi- 
cult execution,  or  striking  effect;  but  there  were  exquisite 
inflections,  and  tender  turns,  which  art  could  not  reach. 
Nothing  but  feeling  and  sentiment  could  produce  them.  It 
was  soul  breathed  forth  in  sound.  I  was  always  alive  to  the 
influence  of  music;  indeed,  I  was  susceptible  of  voluptuous 
influences  of  every  kind— sounds,  colors,  shapes,  and  fra- 
grant odors.  I  was  the  very  slave  of  sensation. 

I  lay  mute  and  breathless,  and  drank  in  every  note  of  this 
siren  strain.  It  thrilled  through  my  whole  frame,  and  filled 
my  soul  with  melody  and  love.  I  pictured  to  myself,  with 
curious  logic,  the  form  of  the  unseen  musician.  Such  melodi- 
ous sounds  and  exquisite  inflections  could  only  be  produced  by 
organs  of  the  most  delicate  flexibility.  Such  organs  do  not 
belong  to  coarse,  vulgar  forms;  they  are  the  harmonious 
results  of  fair  proportions  and  admirable  symmetry.  A  being 
so  organized  must  be  lovely. 

Again  my  busy  imagination  was  at  work.  I  called  to 
mind  the  Arabian  story  of  a  prince,  borne  away  during  sleep 
by  a  good  genius,  to  the  distant  abode  of  a  princess  of  rav- 
ishing beauty.  I  do  not  pretend  to  say  that  I  believed  in  hav- 
ing experienced  a  similar  transportation ;  but  it  was  my  invet- 


MOUNT  JOT.  23 

erate  habit  to  cheat  myself  with  fancies  of  the  kind,  and  to 
give  tho  tinge  of  illusion  to  surrounding  realities. 

The  witching  sound  had  ceased,  but  its  vibrations  still  played 
round  niy  heart,  and  filled  it  with  a  tumult  of  soft  emotions. 
At  this  moment,  a  self-upbraiding  pang  shot  through  my 
bosom.  "Ah,  recreant!" a  voice  seemed  to  exclaim,  "is  this 
the  stability  of  thine  affections?  What!  hast  thou  so  soon  for- 
gotten the  nymph  of  the  fountain?  Has  one  song,  idly  piped 
in  thine  ear,  been  sufficient  to  charm  away  the  cherished  ten- 
derness of  a  whole  summer?" 

The  wise  may  smile  —but  I  am  in  a  confiding  mood,  and  must 
confess  my  weakness.  I  felt  a  degree  of  compunction  at  this 
sudden  infidelity,  yet  I  could  not  resist  the  power  of  present 
fascination.  My  peace  of  mind  was  destroyed  by  conflicting 
claims.  The  nymph  of  the  fountain  came  over  my  memory, 
with  all  the  associations  of  fairy  footsteps,  shady  groves,  soft 
echoes,  and  wild  streamlets;  but  this  new  passion  was  pro- 
duced by  a  strain  of  soul-subduing  melody,  still  lingering  in  my 
ear,  aided  by  a  downy  bed,  fragrant  flowers,  and  rose-colored 
curtains.  "  Unhappy  youth !"  sighed  I  to  myself,  "distracted 
by  such  rival  passions,  and  the  empire  of  thy  heart  thus  vio- 
lently contested  by  the  sound  of  a  voice,  and  the  print  of  a 
footstep !" 


I  had  not  remained  long  in  this  mood,  when  I  heard  the  door 
of  the  room  gently  opened.  I  turned  my  head  to  see  what 
inhabitant  of  this  enchanted  palace  should  appear;  whether 
page  in  green,  hideous  dwarf,  or  haggard  fairy.  It  was  my 
own  man  Scipio.  He  advanced  with  cautious  step,  and  was 
delighted,  as  he  said,  to  find  me  so  much  myself  again.  My 
first  questions  were  as  to  where  I  was  and  how  I  came  there? 
Scipio  told  me  a  long  story  of  his  having  been  fishing  in  a 
canoe  at  the  time  of  my  hare-brained  cruise ;  of  his  noticing 
the  gathering  squall,  and  my  impending  danger;  of  his  has- 
tening to  join  me,  but  arriving  just  in  time  to  snatch  me  from 
a  watery  grave ;  of  the  great  difficulty  in  restoring  me  to  ani- 
mation ;  and  of  my  being  subsequently  conveyed,  in  a  state  of 
insensibility,  to  this  mansion. 

"But  where  am  I?"  was  the  reiterated  demand. 

"  In  the  house  of  Mr.  Somerville." 

"  Somerville— Somerville !"  I  recollected  to  have  heard  that 
a  gentleman  of  that  name  had  recently  taken  up  his  residence 


24  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

at  some  distance  from  my  father's  abode,  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  Hudson.  He  was  commonly  known  by  the  name  of 
"French  Somerville,"  from  having  passed  part  of  his  early  life 
in  France,  and  from  his  exhibiting  traces  of  French  taste  in 
his  mode  of  living,  and  the  arrangements  of  his  house.  In 
fact,  it  was  in  his  pleasure-boat,  which  had  got  adrift,  that  I 
had  made  my  fanciful  and  disastrous  cruise.  All  this  was  sim- 
ple, straightforward  matter  of  fact,  and  threatened  to  demolish 
all  the  cobweb  romance  I  had  been  spinning,  when  fortunately 
I  again  heard  the  tinkling  of  a  harp.  I  raised  myself  in  bed, 
and  listened. 

"Scipio,"  said  I,  with  some  little  hesitation,  "I  heard  some 
one  singing  just  now.  Who  was  it?" 

"  Oh,  that  was  Miss  Julia." 

"Julia!  Julia!  Delightful !  what  a  name !  And,  Scipio — is 
she— is  she  pretty?" 

Scipio  grinned  from  ear  to  ear.  "Except  Miss  Sophy,  she 
was  the  most  beautiful  young  lady  he  had  ever  seen." 

I  should  observe,  that  my  sister  Sophia  was  considered  by 
all  the  servants  a  paragon  of  perfection. 

Scipio  now  offered  to  remove  the  basket  of  flowers;  he  was 
afraid  their  odor  might  be  too  powerful;  but  Miss  Julia  had 
given  them  that  morning  to  be  placed  in  my  room. 

These  flowers,  then,  had  been  gathered  by  the  fairy  fingers 
of  my  unseen  beauty ;  that  sweet  breath  which  had  filled  my 
ear  with  melody  had  passed  over  them.  I  made  Scipio  hand 
them  to  me,  culled  several  of  the  most  delicate,  and  laid  them 
on  my  bosom. 

Mr.  Somerville  paid  me  a  visit  not  long  afterward.  He  was 
an  interesting  study  for  me,  for  he  was  the  father  of  my  unseen 
beauty,  and  probably  resembled  her.  I  scanned  him  closely. 
He  was  a  tall  and  elegant  man,  with  an  open,  affable  manner, 
and  an  erect  and  graceful  carriage.  His  eyes  were  bluish-gray, 
and  though  not  dark,  yet  at  times  were  sparkling  and  expres- 
sive. His  hair  was  dressed  and  powdered,  and  being  lightly 
combed  up  from  his  forehead,  added  to  the  loftiness  of  his 
aspect.  He  was  fluent  in  discourse,  but  his  conversation  had 
the  quiet  tone  of  polished  society,  without  any  of  those  bold 
flights  of  thought,  and  picturings  of  fancy,  which  I  so  much 
admired. 

My  imagination  was  a  little  puzzled,  at  first,  to  make  out  of 
this  assemblage  of  personal  and  mental  qualities,  a  picture  that 
should  harmonize  with  my  previous  idea  of  the  fair  unseen. 


MOUNTJOY.  25 

By  dint,  however,  of  selecting  what  it  liked,  and  giving  a  touch 
here  and  a  touch  there,  it  soon  furnished  out  a  satisfactory 
portrait. 

"  Julia  must  be  tall,"  thought  I,  "  and  of  exquisite  grace  and 
dignity.  She  is  not  quite  so  courtly  as  her  father,  for  she  has 
been  brought  up  in  the  retirement  of  the  country.  Neither  is 
she  of  such  vivacious  deportment ;  for  the  tones  of  her  voice 
are  soft  and  plaintive,  and  she  loves  pathetic  music.  She  is 
rather  pensive — yet  not  too  pensive ;  just  what  is  called  inter- 
esting. Her  eyes  are  like  her  father's,  except  that  they  are  of 
a  purer  blue,  and  more  tender  and  languishing.  She  has  light 
hair — not  exactly  flaxen,  for  I  do  not  like  flaxen  hair,  but 
between  that  and  auburn.  In  a  word,  she  is  a  tall,  elegant, 
imposing,  languishing,  blue-eyed,  romantic-looking  beauty." 
And  having  thus  finished  her  picture,  I  felt  ten  times  more  in 
love  with  her  than  ever. 


I  felt  so  much  recovered  that  I  would  at  once  have  left 
my  room,  but  Mr.  Somerville  objected  to  it.  He  had  sent 
early  word  to  my  family  of  my  safety ;  and  my  father  arrived 
in  the  course  of  the  morning.  He  was  shocked  at  learning  the 
risk  I  had  run,  but  rejoiced  to  find  me  so  much  restored,  and 
was  warm  in  his  thanks  to  Mr.  Somerville  for  his  kindness. 
The  other  only  required,  in  return,  that  I  might  remain  two  or 
three  days  as  his  guest,  to  give  time  for  my  recovery,  and  for 
our  forming  a  closer  acquaintance ;  a  request  which  my  father 
readily  granted.  Scipio  accordingly  accompanied  my  father 
home,  and  returned  with  a  supply  of  clothes,  and  with  affec- 
tionate letters  from  my  mother  and  sisters. 

The  next  morning,  aided  by  Scipio,  I  made  my  toilet  with 
rather  more  care  than  usual,  and  descended  the  stairs  with 
some  trepidation,  eager  to  see  the  original  of  the  portrait  which 
had  been  so  completely  pictured  in  my  imagination. 

On  entering  the  parlor,  I  found  it  deserted.  Like  the  rest  of 
the  house,  it  was  furnished  in  a  foreign  style.  The  curtains 
were  of  French  silk;  there  were  Grecian  couches,  marble 
tables,  pier-glasses,  and  chandeliers.  What  chiefly  attracted 
my  eye,  were  documents  of  female  taste  that  I  saw  around 
me ;  a  piano,  with  an  ample  stock  of  Italian  music :  a  book  of 
poetry  lying  on  the  sofa ;  a  vase  of  fresh  flowers  on  a  table,  and 
a  portfolio  open  with  a  skilful  and  half-finished  sketch  of  them. 
In  the  window  was  a  canary  bird,  in  a  gilt  cage,  and  near  by, 


26  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

the  harp  that  had  been  in  Julia's  arms.  Happy  harp !  But 
where  was  the  being  that  reigned  in  this  little  empire  of  deli- 
cacies?—that  breathed  poetry  and  song,  and  dwelt  among  birds 
and  flowers,  and  rose-colored  curtains? 

Suddenly  I  heard  the  hall  door  fly  open,  the  quick  pattering 
of  light  steps,  a  wild,  capricious  strain  of  music,  and  the  shrill 
barking  of  a  dog.  A  light,  frolic  nymph  of  fifteen  came  trip- 
ping into  the  room,  playing  on  a  flageolet,  with  a  little  spaniel 
romping  after  her.  Her  gipsy  hat  had  fallen  back  upon  her 
shoulders ;  a  profusion  of  glossy  brown  hair  was  blown  in  rich 
ringlets  about  her  face,  which  beamed  through  them  with  the 
brightness  of  smiles  and  dimples. 

At  sight  of  me  she  stopped  short,  hi  the  most  beautiful  con- 
fusion, stammered  out  a  word  or  two  about  looking  for  her 
father,  glided  out  of  the  door,  and  I  heard  her  bounding  up 
the  staircase,  like  a  frighted  fawn,  with  the  little  dog  barking 
after  her. 

When  Miss  Somerville  returned  to  the  parlor,  she  was  quite 
a  different  being.  She  entered,  stealing  along  by  her  mother's 
side  with  noiseless  step,  and  sweet  timidity:  her  hair  was 
prettily  adjusted,  and  a  soft  blush  mantled  on  her  damask 
cheek.  Mr.  Somerville  accompanied  the  ladies,  and  introduced 
me  regularly  to  them.  There  were  many  kind  inquiries  and 
much  sympathy  expressed,  on  the  subject  of  my  nautical  acci- 
dent, and  some  remarks  upon  the  wild  scenery  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, with  which  the  ladies  seemed  perfectly  acquainted. 

"  You  must  know,"  said  Mr.  Somerville,  "  that  we  are  great 
navigators,  and  delight  in  exploring  every  nook  and  corner  of 
the  river.  My  daughter,  too,  is  a  great  hunter  of  the  pictur- 
esque, and  transfers  every  rock  and  glen  to  her  portfolio.  By 
the  way,  my  dear,  show  Mr.  Mountjoy  that  pretty  scene  you 
have  lately  sketched."  Julia  complied,  blushing,  and  drew 
from  her  portf olio  a  colored  sketch.  I  almost  started  at  the 
sight.  It  was  my  favorite  brook.  A  sudden  thought  darted 
across  my  mind.  I  glanced  down  my  eye,  and  beheld  the 
divinest  little  foot  in  the  world.  Oh,  blissful  conviction !  The 
struggle  of  my  affections  was  at  an  end.  The  voice  and  the 
footstep  were  no  longer  at  variance.  Julia  Somerville  was  the 
nymph  of  the  fountain ! 


What  conversation  passed  during  breakfast  I  do  not  recol- 
lect, and  hardly  was  conscious  of  at  the  time,  for  my  thoughts 


MOUNT  JOT.  27 

-were  in  complete  confusion.  I  wished  to  gaze  on  Mies  Somer« 
ville,but  did  not  dare.  Once,  indeed,  I  ventured  a  glance.  She 
was  at  that  moment  darting  a  similar  one  from  under  a  covert 
of  ringlets.  Our  eyes  seemed  shocked  by  the  rencontre,  and 
fell;  hers  through  the  natural  modesty  of  her  sex,  mine 
through  a  bashfulness  produced  by  the  previous  workings  of 
my  imagination.  That  glance,  however,  went  like  a  sun-beam 
to  my  heart. 

A  convenient  mirror  favored  my  diffidence,  and  gave  me  the 
reflection  of  Miss  Somerville's  form.  It  is  true  it  only  present- 
ed the  back  of  her  head,  but  she  had  the  merit  of  an  ancient 
statue ;  contemplate  her  from  any  point  of  view,  she  was  beau- 
tiful. And  yet  she  was  totally  different  from  everything  I  had 
before  conceived  of  beauty.  She  was  not  the  serene,  medita- 
tive maid  that  I  had  pictured  the  nymph  of  the  fountain ;  nor 
the  tall,  soft,  languishing,  blue-eyed,  dignified  being  that  I  had 
fancied  the  minstrel  of  the  harp.  There  was  nothing  of  dignity 
about  her :  she  was  girlish  in  her  appearance,  and  scarcely  of 
the  middle  size ;  but  then  there  was  the  tenderness  of  budding 
youth ;  the  sweetness  of  the  half -blown  rose,  when  not  a  tint 
or  perfume  has  been  withered  or  exhaled;  there  were  smiles 
and  dimples,  and  all  the  soft  witcheries  of  ever- varying  expres- 
sion. I  wondered  that  I  could  ever  have  admised  any  other 
style  of  beauty. 

After  breakfast,  Mr.  Somerville  departed  to  attend  to  the 
concerns  of  his  estate,  and  gave  me  in  charge  of  the  ladies. 
Mrs.  Somerville  also  was  called  away  by  household  cares,  and 
I  was  left  alone  with  Julia!  Here,  then,  was  the  situation 
which  of  all  others  I  had  most  coveted.  I  was  in  the  presence 
of  the  lovely  being  that  had  so  long  been  the  desire  of  my 
heart.  We  were  alone;  propitious  opportunity  for  a  lover! 
Did  I  seize  upon  it?  Did  I  break  out  in  one  of  my  accustomed 
rhapsodies?  No  such  thing!  Never  was  being  more  awk- 
wardly embarrassed. 

"What  can  be  the  cause  of  this?"  thought  I.  "Surely,  I 
cannot  stand  in  awe  of  this  young  girl  I  am  of  course  her 
superior  in  intellect,  and  am  never  embarrassed  in  company 
with  my  tutor,  notwithstanding  all  his  wisdom." 

It  was  passing  strange.  I  felt  that  if  she  were  an  old  woman, 
I  should  be  quite  at  my  ease ;  if  she  were  even  an  ugly  woman, 
I  should  make  out  very  well:  it  was  her  beauty  that  over- 
powered me.  How  little  do  lovely  women  know  what  awful 
beings  they  are,  in  the  eyes  of  inexperienced  youth!  Young 


28  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

men  brought  up  in  the  fashionable  circles  of  our  cities  wiH 
smile  at  all  this.  Accustomed  to  mingle  incessantly  in  female 
society,  and  to  have  the  romance  of  the  heart  deadened  by  a 
thousand  frivolous  flirtations,  women  are  nothing  but  women 
in  their  eyes ;  but  to  a  susceptible  youth  like  myself,  brought 
up  in  the  country,  they  are  perfect  divinities. 

Miss  Somerville  was  at  first  a  little  embarrassed  herself;  but, 
some  how  or  other,  women  have  a  natural  adroitness  in  recov- 
ering their  self-possession ;  they  are  more  alert  in  their  minds, 
and  graceful  in  their  manners.  Beside,  I  was  but  an  ordinary- 
personage  in  Miss  Somerville's  eyes ;  she  was  not  under  the 
influence  of  such  a  singular  course  of  imaginings  as  had  sur- 
rounded her,  in  my  eyes,  with  the  illusions  of  romance. 
Perhaps,  too,  she  saw  the  confusion  in  the  opposite  camp  and 
gained  courage  from  the  discovery.  At  any  rate  she  was  the 
first  to  take  the  field. 

Her  conversation,  however,  was  only  on  common-place 
topics,  and  in  an  easy,  well-bred  style.  I  endeavored  to  re- 
spond in  the  same  manner;  but  I  was  strangely  incompetent 
to  the  task.  My  ideas  were  frozen  up ;  even  words  seemed  to 
fail  me.  I  was  excessively  vexed  at  myself,  for  I  wished  to  be 
uncommonly  elegant.  I  tried  two  or  three  tunes  to  turn  a 
pretty  thought,  or  to  utter  a  fine  sentiment ;  but  it  would  come 
forth  so  trite,  so  forced,  so  mawkish,  that  I  was  ashamed  of  it. 
My  very  voice  sounded  discordantly,  though  I  sought  to  modu- 
late it  into  the  softest  tones.  "The  truth  is,"  thought  I  to 
myself,  "I  cannot  bring  my  mind  down  to  the  small  talk 
necessary  for  young  girls ;  it  is  too  masculine  and  robust  for 
the  mincing  measure  of  parlor  gossip.  I  am  a  philosopher — 
and  that  accounts  for  it." 

The  entrance  of  Mrs.  Somerville  at  length  gave  me  relief.  I 
at  once  breathed  freely,  and  felt  a  vast  deal  of  confidence  come 
over  me.  "This  is  strange,"  thought  I,  "that  the  appearance 
of  another  woman  should  revive  my  courage ;  that  I  should  be 
a  better  match  for  two  women  than  one.  However,  since  it  is 
so,  I  will  take  advantage  of  the  circumstance,  and  let  this 
young  lady  see  that  I  am  not  so  great  a  simpleton  as  she  prob- 
ably thinks  me." 

I  accordingly  took  up  the  book  of  poetry  which  lay  upon  the 
Sofa.  It  was  Milton's  "Paradise  Lost."  Nothing  could  have 
been  more  fortunate ;  it  afforded  a  fine  scope  for  my  favorite 
vein  of  grandiloquence.  I  went  largely  into  a  discussion  of  its 
merits,  or  rather  an  enthusiastic  eulogy  of  them.  My  observa- 


MOUNT  JOY.  29 

tions  were  addressed  to  Mrs.  Somerville,  for  I  found  I  could 
talk  to  her  with  more  ease  than  to  her  daughter.  She 
appeared  alive  to  the  beauties  of  the  poet,  and  disposed  to  meet 
me  in  the  discussion;  but  it  was  not  my  object  to  hear  her 
talk;  it  was  to  talk  myself.  I  anticipated  all  she  had  to 
say,  overpowered  her  with  the  copiousness  of  my  ideas,  and 
supported  and  illustrated  them  by  long  citations  from  the 
author. 

While  thus  holding  forth,  I  cast  a  side  glance  to  see  how 
Miss  Somerville  was  affected.  She  had  some  embroidery 
stretched  on  a  frame  before  her,  but  had  paused  in  her  labor, 
and  was  looking  down  as  if  lost  in  mute  attention.  I  felt  a 
glow  of  self-satisfaction,  but  I  recollected,  at  the  same  time, 
with  a  kind  of  pique,  the  advantage  she  had  enjoyed  over  me 
in  our  tete-a-tete.  I  determined  to  push  my  triumph,  and  ac- 
cordingly kept  on  with  redoubled  ardor,  until  I  had  fairly  ex- 
hausted my  subject,  or  rather  my  thoughts. 

I  had  scarce  come  to  a  full  stop,  when  Miss  Somerville 
raised  her  eyes  from  the  work  on  which  they  had  been  fixed, 
and  turning  to  her  mother,  observed:  "I  have  been  consider- 
ing, mamma,  whether  to  work  these  flowers  plain,  or  in 
colors." 

Had  an  ice-bolt  shot  to  my  heart,  it  could  not  have  chilled 
me  more  effectually.  "What  a  fool,"  thought  I,  "have  I  been 
making  myself— squandering  away  fine  thoughts,  a  ad  fine  lan- 
guage, upon  a  light  mind,  and  an  ignorant  ear!  This  girl 
knows  nothing  of  poetry.  She  has  no  soul,  I  fear,  for  its 
beauties.  Can  any  one  have  real  sensibility  of  heart,  and  not 
be  alive  to  poetry?  However,  she  is  young;  this  part  of  her 
education  has  been  neglected :  there  is  time  enough  to  remedy 
it.  I  will  be  her  preceptor.  I  will  kindle  in  her  mind  the 
sacred  flame,  and  lead  her  through  the  fairy  land  of  song. 
But  after  all,  it  is  rather  unfortunate  that  I  should  have  fallen 
in  love  with  a  woman  who  knows  nothing  of  poetry." 


I  passed  a  day  not  altogether  satisfactory.  I  was  a  little 
disappointed  that  Miss  Somerville  did  not  show  any  poetical 
feeling.  "I  am  afraid,  after  all,"  said  I  to  myself,  "she  is 
light  and  girlish,  and  more  fitted  to  pluck  wild  flowers,  play  on 
the  flageolet,  and  romp  with  little  dogs  than  to  converse  with 
a  man  of  my  turn." 

I  believe,  however,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  was  more  out  of 


80  TEE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

humor  with  myself.  I  thought  I  had  made  the  worst  first 
appearance  that  ever  hero  made,  either  in  novel  or  fairy  tale. 
I  was  out  of  all  patience,  when  I  called  to  mind  my  awkward 
attempts  at  ease  and  elegance  in  the  tete-a-tete.  And  then  my 
intolerable  long  lecture  about  poetry  to  catch  the  applause  of 
a  heedless  auditor !  But  there  I  was  not  to  blame.  I  had  cer- 
tainly been  eloquent:  it  was  her  fault  that  the  eloquence  was 
wasted.  To  meditate  upon  the  embroidery  of  a  flower,  when  I 
was  expatiating  on  the  beauties  of  Milton !  She  might  at  least 
have  admired  the  poetry,  if  she  did  not  relish  the  manner  in 
which  it  was  delivered:  though  that  was  not  despicable,  for  I 
had  recited  passages  in  my  best  style,  which  my  mother  and 
sisters  had  always  considered  equal  to  a  play.  "Oh,  it  is 
evident,"  thought  I,  "Miss  Someryille  has  very  little  soul  I" 

Such  were  my  fancies  and  cogitations  during  the  day,  the 
f^eater  part  of  which  was  spent  in  my  chamber,  for  I  was  still 
languid.  My  evening  was  passed  in  the  drawing-room,  where 
I  overlooked  Miss  Somerville's  portfolio  of  sketches. 

They  were  executed  with  great  taste,  and  showed  a  nice  ob- 
servation of  the  peculiarities  of  nature.  They  were  all  her  own, 
and  free  from  those  cunning  tints  and  touches  of  the  drawing- 
master,  by  which  young  ladies'  drawings,  like  their  heads,  are 
dressed  up  for  company.  There  was  no  garnish  or  vulgar  trick 
of  colors,  either ;  all  was  executed  with  singular  truth  and  sim- 
plicity. 

"  And  yet,"  thought  I,  "this  little  being,  who  has  so  pure  an 
eye  to  take  in,  as  in  a  limpid  brook,  all  the  graceful  forms  and 
magic  tints  of  nature,  has  no  soul  for  poetry !" 

Mr.  Somerville,  toward  the  latter  part  of  the  evening,  observ- 
ing my  eye  to  wander  occasionally  to  the  harp,  interpreted 
and  met  my  wishes  with  his  accustomed  civility. 

"Julia,  my  dear,"  said  he,  "Mr.  Mount  joy  would  like  to  hear 
a  little  music  from  your  harp ;  let  us  hear,  too,  the  sound  ol 
your  voice." 

Julia  immediately  complied,  without  any  of  that  hesitation 
and  difficulty,  by  which  young  ladies  are  apt  to  make  company 
pay  dear  for  bad  music.  She  sang  a  sprightly  strain,  in  a  bril- 
liant style,  that  came  trilling  playfully  over  the  ear;  and  the 
bright  eye  and  dimpling  smile  showed  that  her  little  heart 
danced  with  the  song.  Her  pet  canary  bird,  who  hung  close 
by,  was  awakened  by  the  music,  and  burst  forth  into  an  emu- 
lating strain.  Julia  smiled  with  a  pretty  air  of  defiance,  and 
played  louder, 


MOUNTJOY.  31 

After  some  time,  the  music  changed,  and  ran  into  a  plaintive 
strain,  in  a  minor  key.  Then  it  was,  that  all  the  former 
witchery  of  her  voice  came  over  me;  then  it  was  that  she 
eeemed  to  sing  from  the  heart  and  to  the  heart.  Her  fingers 
moved  about  the  chords  as  if  they  scarcely  touched  them. 
Her  whole  manner  and  appearance  changed;  her  eyes  beamed 
with  the  softest  expression;  her  countenance,  her  frame,  all 
seemed  subdued  into  tenderness.  She  rose  from  the  harp, 
Isaving  it  still  vibrating  with  sweet  sounds,  and  moved  toward 
her  father  to  bid  him  good  night. 

His  eyes  had  been  fixed  on  her  intently,  during  her  perfor- 
mance. As  she  came  before  him  he  parted  her  shining  ringlets 
with  both  his  hands,  and  looked  down  with  the  fondness  of  a 
father  on  her  innocent  face.  The  music  seemed  still  lingering 
in  its  lineaments,  and  the  action  of  her  father  brought  a  moist 
gleam  in  her  eye.  He  kissed  her  fair  forehead,  after  the 
French  mode  of  parental  caressing:  "Good  night,  and  God 
bless  you,"  said  he,  "my  good  little  girl!" 

Julia  tripped  away,  with  a  tear  in  her  eye,  a  dimple  in  her 
cheek,  and  a  light  heart  in  her  bosom.  I  thought  it  the  pret- 
tiest picture  of  paternal  and  filial  affection  I  had  ever  seen. 

When  I  retired  to  bed,  a  new  train  of  thoughts  crowded  into 
my  brain.  "  After  all,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  it  is  clear  this  girl 
has  a  soul,  though  she  was  not  moved  by  my  eloquence.  She 
has  all  the  outward  signs  and  evidences  of  poetic  feeling.  She 
paints  well,  and  has  an  eye  for  nature.  She  is  a  fine  musician, 
and  enters  into  the  very  soul  of  song.  What  a  pity  that  she 
knows  nothing  of  poetry !  But  we  will  see  what  is  to  be  done. 
I  am  irretrievably  in  love  with  her;  what  then  am  I  to  do? 
Come  down  to  the  level  of  her  mind,  or  endeavor  to  raise  her 
to  some  kind  of  intellectual  equality  with  myself?  That  is  the 
most  generous  course.  She  will  look  up  to  me  as  a  benefactor. 
I  shall  become  associated  in  her  mind  with  the  lofty  thoughts 
and  harmonious  graces  of  poetry.  She  is  apparently  docile: 
beside,  the  difference  of  our  ages  will  give  me  an  ascendancy 
over  her.  She  cannot  be  above  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  I  am 
full  turned  to  twenty."  So,  having  built  this  most  delectable 
of  air  castles,  I  fell  asleep. 


The  next  morning  I  was  quite  a  different  being.  I  no  longer 
felt  fearful  of  stealing  a  glance  at  Julia ;  on  the  contrary,  I 
contemplated  her  steadily,  with  the  benignant  eye  of  a  benefac- 


32  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

tor.  Shortly  after  breakfast  I  found  myself  alone  with  her,  as 
I  had  on  the  preceding  morning ;  but  I  felt  nothing  of  the  awk- 
wardness of  our  previous  tete-a-tete.  I  was  elevated  by  the 
consciousness  of  my  intellectual  superiority,  and  should  almost 
have  felt  a  sentiment  of  pity  for  the  ignorance  of  the  lovely 
little  being,  if  I  had  not  felt  also  the  assurance  that  I  should  be 
able  to  dispel  it.  ' '  But  it  is  tune, "  thought  I,  "to  open  school. " 

Julia  was  occupied  in  arranging  some  music  on  her  piano. 
I  looked  over  two  or  three  songs;  they  were  Moore's  Irish 
melodies. 

"These  are  pretty  things!"  said  I,  flirting  the  leaves  over 
lightly,  and  giving  a  slight  shrug,  by  way  of  qualifying  the 
opinion. 

"Oh,  I  love  them  of  all  things,"  said  Julia,  "they're  so 
touching!" 

"Then  you  like  them  for  the  poetry,"  said  I,  with  an  encour- 
aging smile. 

"Oh  yes;  she  thought  them  charmingly  written." 

Now  was  my  time.  "  Poetry,"  said  I,  assuming  a  didactic 
attitude  and  air,  "poetry  is  one  of  the  most  pleasing  studies 
that  can  occupy  a  youthful  mind.  It  renders  us  susceptible  of 
the  gentle  impulses  of  humanity,  and  cherishes  a  delicate  per- 
ception of  all  that  is  virtuous  and  elevated  in  morals,  and 
graceful  and  beautiful  in  physics.  It " 

I  was  going  on  in  a  style  that  would  have  graced  a  professor 
of  rhetoric,  when  I  saw  a  light  smile  playing  about  Miss 
Somerville's  mouth,  and  that  she  began  to  turn  over  the  leaves 
of  a  music-book.  I  recollected  her  inattention  to  my  discourse 
of  the  preceding  morning.  "There  is  no  fixing  her  light 
mind,"  thought  I,  " by  abstract  theory ;  we  will  proceed  prac- 
tically." As  it  happened,  the  identical  volume  of  Milton's 
Paradise  Lost  was  lying  at  hand. 

"Let  me  recommend  to  you,  my  young  friend, "  said  I,  in 
one  of  those  tones  of  persuasive  admonition,  which  I  had  so 
often  loved  in  Glencoe,  "let  me  recommend  to  you  this  ad- 
mirable poem;  you  will  find  in  it  sources  of  intellectual  enjoy- 
ment far  superior  to  those  songs  which  have  delighted  you.5" 
Julia  looked  at  the  book,  and  then  at  me,  with  a  whimsically 
dubious  air.  "Milton's  Paradise  Lost?"  said  she;  "oh,  I 
know  the  greater  part  of  that  by  heart." 

I  had  not  expected  to  find  my  pupil  so  far  advanced ;  how- 
ever, the  Paradise  Lost  is  a  kind  of  school-book,  and  its  finest 
passages  are  given  to  young  ladies  as  tasks. 


MOUNT  JOT.  33 

"I  find,"  said  I  to  myself,  "I  must  not  treat  her  as  so  com- 
plete a  novice ;  her  inattention  yesterday  could  not  have  pro- 
ceeded from  absolute  ignorance,  but  merely  from  a  want  of 
poetic  feeling.  I'll  try  her  again." 

I  now  determined  to  dazzle  her  with  my  own  erudition,  and 
launched  into  a  harangue  that  would  have  done  honor  to  an 
institute.  Pope,  Spenser,  Chaucer,  and  the  old  dramatic  wri- 
ters were  all  dipped  into,  with  the  excursive  flight  of  a 
swallow.  I  did  not  confine  myself  to  English  poets,  but  gave 
a  glance  at  the  French  and  Italian  schools;  I  passed  over 
Ariosto  in  full  wing,  but  paused  on  Tasso's  Jerusalem  De- 
livered. I  dwelt  on  the  character  of  Clorinda:  "There's  a 
character,"  said  I,  "that  you  will  find  well  worthy  a  woman's 
study.  It  shows  to  what  exalted  heights  of  heroism  the  sex 
can  rise,  how  gloriously  they  may  share  even  in  the  stern  con- 
cerns of  men." 

"For  my  part,"  said  Julia,  gently  taking  advantage  of  a 
pause,  "for  my  part,  I  prefer  the  character  of  Sophronia." 

I  was  thunderstruck.  She  then  had  read  Tasso !  This  girl 
that  I  had  been  treating  as  an  ignoramus  in  poetry !  She  pro- 
ceeded with  a  slight  glow  of  the  cheek,  summoned  up  perhaps 
by  a  casual  glow  of  feeling: 

"I  do  not  admire  those  masculine  heroines, "  said  she,  "  who 
aim  at  the  bold  qualities  of  the  opposite  sex.  Now  Soph- 
ronia only  exhibits  the  real  qualities  of  a  woman,  wrought 
up  to  their  highest  excitement.  She  is  modest,  gentle,  and 
retiring,  as  it  becomes  a  woman  to  be;  but  she  has  all  the 
strength  of  affection  proper  to  a  woman.  She  cannot  fight  for 
her  people  as  Clorinda  does,  but  she  can  offer  herself  up,  and 
die  to  serve  them.  You  may  admire  Clorinda,  but  you  surely 
would  be  more  apt  to  love  Sophronia;  at  least,"  added  she, 
suddenly  appearing  to  recollect  herself,  and  blushing  at  having 
launched  into  such  a  discussion,  "at  least  that  is  what  papa 
observed  when  we  read  the  poem  together." 

"  Indeed, "said  I,  dryly,  for  I  felt  disconcerted  and  nettled  at 
being  unexpectedly  lectured  by  my  pupil;  "indeed,  I  do  not 
exactly  recollect  the  passage." 

"Oh, "said  Julia,  "I  can  repeat  it  to  you;"  and  she  im- 
mediately gave  it  in  Italian. 

Heavens  and  earth ! — here  was  a  situation !  I  knew  no  more 
of  Italian  than  I  did  of  the  language  of  Psalmanazar.  "What  a 
dilemma  for  a  would-be- wise  man  to  be  placed  in!  I  saw 
Julia  waited  for  my  opinion. 


34  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

"In  fact,"  said  I,  hesitating,  "I— I  do  not  exactly  under- 
stand Italian." 

"  Oh,"  said  Julia,  with  the  utmost  naivete,  "  I  have  no  doubt 
it  is  very  beautiful  in  the  translation." 

I  was  glad  to  break  up  school,  and  get  back  to  my  chamber, 
full  of  the  mortification  which  a  wise  man  in  love  experiences 
on  finding  his  mistress  wiser  than  himself.  "Translation! 
translation!"  muttered  I  to  myself ,  as  I  jerked  the  door  shut 
behind  me:  "  I  am  surprised  my  father  has  never  had  me  in- 
structed in  the  modern  languages.  They  are  all-important. 
What  is  the  use  of  Latin  and  Greek?  No  one  speaks  them; 
but  here,  the  moment  I  make  my  appearance  in  the  world,  a 
little  girl  slaps  Italian  in  my  face.  However,  thank  heaven,  a 
language  is  easily  learned.  The  moment  I  return  home,  I'll 
set  about  studying  Italian;  and  to  prevent  future  surprise,  I 
will  study  Spanish  and  German  at  the  same  time ;  and  if  any 
young  lady  attempts  to  quote  Italian  upon  me  again,  I'll  bury 
her  under  a  heap  of  High  Dutch  poetry !" 


I  felt  now  like  some  mighty  chieftain,  who  has  carried  the 
war  into  a  weak  country,  with  full  confidence  of  success,  and 
been  repulsed  and  obliged  to  draw  off  his  forces  from  before 
some  inconsiderable  fortress. 

"However,"  thought  I,  "I  have  as  yet  brought  only  my 
light  artillery  into  action ;  we  shall  see  what  is  to  be  done  with 
my  heavy  ordnance.  Julia  is  evidently  well  versed  in  poetry ; 
but  it  is  natural  she  should  be  so ;  it  is  allied  to  painting  and 
music,  and  is  congenial  to  the  light  graces  of  the  female  char- 
acter. We  will  try  her  on  graver  themes." 

I  felt  all  my  pride  awakened;  it  even  for  a  time  swelled 
higher  than  my  love.  I  was  determined  completely  to  estab- 
lish my  mental  superiority,  and  subdue  the  intellect  of  this 
little  being;  it  would  then  be  time  to  sway  the  sceptre  of 
gentle  empire,  and  win  the  affections  of  her  heart. 

Accordingly,  at  dinner  I  again  took  the  field,  en  potence.  I 
now  addressed  myself  to  Mr.  Somerville,  for  I  was  about  to 
enter  upon  topics  in  which  a  young  girl  like  her  could  not  be 
well  versed.  I  led,  or  rather  forced,  the  conversation  into  a 
vein  of  historical  erudition,  discussing  several  of  tlio  most 
prominent  facts  of  ancient  history,  and  accompanying  them 
with  sound,  indisputable  apothegms. 

Mr.  Somerville  listened  to  me  with  the  air  of  a  man  re 


MOUNT  JOT.  35 

ceiving  information.  I  was  encouraged,  and  went  on  glori- 
ously from  theme  to  theme  of  school  declamation.  I  sat  with 
Marius  on  the  ruins  of  Carthage ;  I  defended  the  bridge  with 
Horatius  Codes ;  thrust  my  hand  into  the  flame  with  Martius 
Scasvola,  and  plunged  with  Curtius  into  the  yawning  gulf;  I 
fought  side  by  side  with  Leonidas,  at  the  straits  of  Thermo- 
pylae ;  and  was  going  full  drive  into  the  battle  of  Platsea,  when 
my  memory,  which  is  the  worst  in  the  world,  failed  me,  just 
as  I  wanted  the  name  of  the  Lacedemonian  commander. 

"Julia,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Somerville,  "perhaps  you  may 
recollect  the  name  of  which  Mr.  Mount  joy  is  in  quest?" 

Julia  colored  slightly.  "I  believe,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice, 
"I  believe  it  was  Pausanias." 

This  unexpected  sally,  instead  of  reinforcing  me,  threw  my 
whole  scheme  of  battle  into  confusion,  and  the  Athenians  re- 
mained unmolested  in  the  field. 

I  am  half  inclined,  since,  to  think  Mr.  Somerville  meant  this 
as  a  sly  hit  at  my  schoolboy  pedantry;  but  he  was  too  well 
bred  not  to  seek  to  relieve  me  from  my  mortification.  "  Oh!" 
said  he,  "  Julia  is  our  family  book  of  reference  for  names, 
dates,  and  distances,  and  has  an  excellent  memory  for  history 
and  geography." 

I  now  became  desperate;  as  a  last  resource  I  turned  to  meta- 
physics. "If  she  is  a  philosopher  in  petticoats,"  thought  I, 
"it  is  all  over  with  me."  Here,  however,  I  had  the  field  to 
myself.  I  gave  chapter  and  verse  of  my  tutor's  lectures, 
heightened  by  all  his  poetical  illustrations ;  I  even  went  further 
than  he  had  ever  ventured,  and  plunged  into  such  depths  of 
metaphysics,  that  I  was  in  danger  of  sticking  in  the  mire  at 
the  bottom.  Fortunately,  I  had  auditors  who  apparently 
could  not  detect  my  flounderings.  Neither  Mr.  Somerville  nor 
'his  daughter  offered  the  least  interruption. 

"When  the  ladies  had  retired,  Mr.  Somerville  sat  some  time 
with  me ;  and  as  I  was  no  longer  anxious  to  astonish,  I  per- 
mitted myself  to  listen,  and  found  that  he  was  really  agreeable. 
He  was  quite  communicative,  and  from  his  conversation  I  was 
enabled  to  form  a  juster  idea  of  his  daughter's  character,  and 
the  mode  in  which  she  had  been  brought  up.  Mr.  Somerville 
had  mingled  much  with  the  world,  and  with  what  is  termed 
fashionable  society.  He  had  experienced  its  cold  elegancies 
and  gay  insincerities ;  its  dissipation  of  the  spirits  and  squan- 
derings of  the  heart.  Like  many  men  of  the  world,  though  he 
had  wandered  too  far  from  nature  ever  to  return  to  it,  yet  he 


36  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

had  the  good  taste  and  good  feeling  to  look  back  fondly  to  its 
'simple  delights,  and  to  determine  that  his  child,  if  possible, 
should  never  leave  them.  He  had  superintended  her  education 
with  scrupulous  care,  storing  her  mind  with  the  graces  of 
polite  literature,  and  with  such  knowledge  as  would  enable  it 
to  furnish  its  own  amusement  and  occupation,  and  giving  her 
all  the  accomplishments  that  sweeten  and  enliven  the  circle  of 
domestic  life.  He  had  been  particularly  sedulous  to  exclude 
all  fashionable  affectations;  all  false  sentiment,  false  sensi- 
bility, and  false  romance.  "Whatever  advantages  she  may 
possess,"  said  he,  "she  is  quite  unconscious  of  them.  She  is 
a  capricious  little  being,  in  everything  but  her  affections ;  she 
is,  however,  free  from  art;  simple,  ingenuous,  amiable,  and,  I 
thank  God!  happy." 

Such  was  the  eulogy  of  a  fond  father,  delivered  with  a  ten- 
derness that  touched  me.  I  could  not  help  making  a  casual 
inquiry,  whether,  among  the  graces  of  polite  literature,  he  had 
included  a  slight  tincture  of  metaphysics.  He  smiled,  and  told 
me  he  had  not. 

On  the  whole,  when,  as  usual,  that  night,  I  summed  up  the 
day's  observations  on  my  pillow,  I  was  not  altogether  dissatis- 
fied. " Miss  Somerville,"  said  I,  "loves  poetry,  and  I  like  her 
the  better  for  it.  She  has  the  advantage  of  me  in  Italian; 
agreed ;  what  is  it  to  know  a  variety  of  languages,  but  merely 
to  have  a  variety  of  sounds  to  express  the  same  idea?  Original 
thought  is  the  ore  of  the  mind ;  language  is  but  the  accidental 
stamp  and  coinage  by  which  it  is  put  into  circulation.  If  I 
can  furnish  an  original  idea,  what  care  I  how  many  languages 
she  can  translate  it  into?  She  may  be  able  also  to  quote 
names,  and  dates,  and  latitudes  better  than  I ;  but  that  is  a 
mere  effort  of  the  memory.  I  admit  she  is  more  accurate  in 
history  and  geography  than  I;  but  then  she  knows  nothing 
of  metaphysics." 

I  had  now  sufficiently  recovered  to  return  home ;  yet  I  could 
not  think  of  leaving  Mr.  Somerville' s  without  having  a  little 
further  conversation  with  him  on  the  subject  of  his  daughter's 
education. 

"  This  Mr.  Somerville,"  thought  I,  "  is  a  very  accomplished, 
elegant  man;  he  has  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world,  and,  upon 
the  whole,  has  profited  by  what  he  has  seen.  He  is  not  with- 
out information,  and,  as  far  as  he  thinks,  appears  to  think 
correctly;  but  after  all,  b«  '=•  -ofv^,.  superficial,  and  does 
not  chink  prof oundly.  He  :e  no  delight  in  those 


MOUNT  JOT.  37 

metaphysical  abstractions  that  are  the  proper  aliment  of  mas- 
culine minds."  I  called  to  mind  various  occasions  in  which  I 
had  indulged  largely  in  metaphysical  discussions,  but  could 
recollect  no  instance  where  I  had  been  able  to  draw  him  out. 
He  had  listened,  itis  true,  with  attention,  and  smiled  as  if  in 
acquiescence,  but  had  always  appeared  to  avoid  reply.  Be- 
side, I  had  made  several  sad  blunders  in  the  glow  of  eloquent 
declamation ;  but  he  had  never  interrupted  me,  to  notice  and 
correct  them,  as  he  would  have  done  had  he  been  versed  in 
the  theme. 

"Now,  it  is  really  a  great  pity,"  resumed  I,  "that  he  should 
have  the  entire  management  of  Miss  Somerville's  education. 
What  a  vast  advantage  it  would  be,  if  she  could  be  put  for  a 
little  tune  under  the  superintendence  of  Glencoe.  He  would 
throw  some  deeper  shades  of  thought  into  her  mind,  which  at 
present  is  all  sunshine ;  not  but  that  Mr.  Somerville  has  done 
very  well,  as  far  as  he  has  gone ;  but  then  he  has  merely  pre- 
pared the  soil  for  the  strong  plants  of  useful  knowledge.  She 
is  well  versed  in  the  leading  facts  of  history,  and  the  general 
course  of  belles-lettres,"  said  I;  "a  little  more  philosophy 
would  do  wonders." 

I  accordingly  took  occasion  to  ask  Mr.  Somerville  for  a  few 
moments'  conversation  in  his  study,  the  morning  I  was  to 
depart.  When  we  were  alone  I  opened  the  matter  fully  to 
him.  I  commenced  with  the  warmest  eulogium  of  Glencoe's 
powers  of  mind,  and  vast  acquirements,  and  ascribed  to  him 
all  my  proficiency  in  the  higher  branches  of  knowledge.  I 
begged,  therefore,  to  recommend  him  as  a  friend  calculated  to 
direct  the  studies  of  Miss  Somerville;  to  lead  her  mind,  by 
degrees,  to  the  contemplation  of  abstract  principles,  and  to 
produce  habits  of  philosophical  analysis;  "which,"  added  I, 
gently  smiling,  "  are  not  often  cultivated  by  young  ladies."  I 
-entured  to  hint,  in  addition,  that  he  would  find  Mr.  Glencoe 

most  valuable  and  interesting  acquaintance  for  himself;  one 
who  would  stimulate  and  evolve  the  powers  of  his  mind ;  and 
who  might  open  to  him  tracts  of  inquiry  and  speculation,  to 
which  perhaps  he  had  hitherto  been  a  stranger. 

Mr.  Somerville  listened  with  grave  attention.  When  I  had 
finished,  he  thanked  me  in  the  politest  manner  for  the  interest 
I  took  in  the  welfare  of  his  daughter  and  himself.  He  ob- 
served that,  as  regarded  himself,  he  wae  afraid  he  was  too  old 
to  benefit  by  the  instruction  of  Mr.  Glencoe,  and  that  as  to  his 
daughter,  he  was  afraid  her  mind  was  but  little  fitted  for  the 

427688 


38  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

study  of  metaphysics.  "I  do  not  wish,"  continued  he,  "to 
strain  her  intellects  with  subjects  they  cannot  grasp,  but  to 
make  her  familiarly  acquainted  with  those  that  are  within  the 
limits  of  her  capacity.  I  do  not  pretend  to  prescribe  the 
boundaries  of  female  genius,  and  am  far  from  indulging  the 
vulgar  opinion,  that  women  are  unfitted  by  nature  for  the 
highest  intellectual  pursuits.  I  speak  only  with  reference  to 
my  daughter's  tastes  and  talents.  She  will  never  make  a 
learned  woman;  nor,  in  truth,  do  I  desire  it;  for  such  is  the 
jealousy  of  our  sex,  as  to  mental  as  well  as  physical  ascend- 
ancy, that  a  learned  woman  is  not  always  the  happiest.  I  do 
not  wish  my  daughter  to  excite  envy,  or  to  battle  with  the 
prejudices  of  the  world ;  but  to  glide  peaceably  through  lif e, 
on  the  good  will  and  kind  opinions  of  her  friends.  She  has 
ample  employment  for  her  little  head,  in  the  course  I  have 
marked  out  for  her;  and  is  busy  at  present  with  some  branches 
of  natural  history,  calculated  to  awaken  her  perceptions  to  the 
beauties  and  wonders  of  nature,  and  to  the  inexhaustible  vol- 
ume of  wisdom  constantly  spread  open  before  her  eyes.  I 
consider  that  woman  most  likely  to  make  an  agreeable  com- 
panion, who  can  draw  topics  of  pleasing  remark  from  every 
natural  object;  and  most  likely  to  be  cheerful  and  contented, 
T?ho  is  continually  sensible  of  the  order,  the  harmony,  and  the 
invariable  beneficence,  that  reign  throughout  the  beautiful 
world  we  inhabit." 

"But,"  added  he,  smiling,  "I  am  betraying  myself  into  a 
lecture,  instead  of  merely  giving  a  reply  to  your  kind  offer. 
Permit  me  to  take  the  liberty,  in  return,  of  inquiring  a  little 
about  your  own  pursuits.  You  speak  of  having  finished  your 
education;  but  of  course  you  have  a  line  of  private  study  and 
mental  occupation  marked  out ;  for  you  must  know  the  impor- 
tance, both  in  point  of  interest  and  happiness,  of  keeping  the 
mind  employed.  May  I  ask  what  system  you  observe  in  your 
intellectual  exercises?" 

"  Oh,  as  to  system,"  I  observed,  "  I  could  never  bring  myself 
into  anything  of  the  kind.  I  thought  it  best  to  let  my  genius 
take  its  own  course,  as  it  always  acted  the  most  vigorously 
when  stimulated  by  inclination." 

Mr.  Somerville  shook  his  head.  "This  same  genius,"  said 
he,  "  is  a  wild  quality,  that  runs  away  with  our  most  promis- 
ing young  men.  It  has  become  so  much  the  fashion,  too,  to 
give  it  the  reins,  that  it  is  now  thought  an  animal  of  too  noble 
and  generous  a  nature  to  be  brought  to  harness.  But  it  is  all 


MOUNT  JOT.  89 

a  mistake.  Nature  never  designed  these  high  endowments  to 
run  riot  through  society,  and  throw  the  whole  system  into 
confusion.  No,  my  dear  sir,  genius,  unless  it  acts  upon  sys- 
tem, is  very  apt  to  be  a  useless  quality  to  society ;  sometimes 
an  injurious,  and  certainly  a  very  uncomfortable  one,  to  its 
possessor.  I  have  had  many  opportunities  of  seeing  the  pro- 
gress through  life  of  young  men  who  were  accounted  geniuses, 
and  have  found  it  too  often  end  in  early  exhaustion  and  bitter 
disappointment;  and  have  as  often  noticed  that  these  effects 
might  be  traced  to  a  total  want  of  system.  There  were  no 
habits  of  business,  of  steady  purpose,  and  regular  application, 
superinduced  upon  the  mind;  everything  was  left  to  chance 
and  impulse,  and  native  luxuriance,  and  everything  of  course 
ran  to  waste  and  wild  entanglement.  Excuse  me  if  I  am 
tedious  on  this  point,  for  I  feel  solicitous  to  impress  it  upon 
you,  being  an  error  extremely  prevalent  in  our  country  and 
one  into  which  too  many  of  our  youth  have  fallen.  I  am 
happy,  however,  to  observe  the  zeal  which  still  appears  to 
actuate  you  for  the  acquisition  of  knowledge,  and  augur  every 
good  from  the  elevated  bent  of  your  ambition.  May  I  ask 
what  has  been  your  course  of  study  for  the  last  six  months?" 

Never  was  question  more  unluckily  timed.  For  the  last  six 
months  I  had  been  absolutely  buried  in  novels  and  romances. 

Mr.  Somerville  perceived  that  the  question  was  embarrass- 
ing, and  with  his  invariable  good  breeding,  immediately  re- 
sumed the  conversation,  without  waiting  for  a  reply.  He  took 
care,  however,  to  turn  it  in  such  a  way  as  to  draw  from  me  an 
account  of  the  whole  manner  in  which  I  had  been  educated, 
and  the  various  currents  of  reading  into  which  my  mind  had 
run.  He  then  went  on  to  discuss,  briefly  but  impressively, 
the  different  branches  of  knowledge  most  important  to  a 
young  man  in  my  situation ;  and  to  my  surprise  I  found  him 
a  complete  master  of  those  studies  on  which  I  had  supposed 
him  ignorant,  and  on  which  I  had  been  descanting  so  confi- 
dently. 

He  complimented  me,  however,  very  graciously,  upon  the 
progress  I  had  made,  but  advised  me  for  the  present  to  turn 
my  attention  to  the  physical  rather  than  the  moral  sciences. 
"These  studies,"  said  he,  "store  a  man's  mind  with  valuable 
facts,  and  at  the  same  time  repress  self-confidence,  by  letting 
him  know  how  boundless  are  the  realms  of  knowledge,  and 
how  little  we  can  possibly  know.  Whereas  metaphysical  stu- 
dies, though  of  an  ingenious  order  of  intellectual  employment, 


40  TEE  CRA  TON  PAPERS. 

are  apt  to  bewilder  some  minds  with  vague  speculations.  They 
never  know  how  far  they  have  advanced,  or  what  may  be  the 
correctness  of  their  favorite  theory.  They  render  many  of  our 
young  men  verbose  and  declamatory,  and  prone  to  mistake 
the  aberrations  of  their  fancy  for  the  inspirations  of  divine 
philosophy." 

I  could  not  but  interrupt  him,  to  assent  to  the  truth  of  these 
remarks,  and  to  say  that  it  had  been  my  lot,  in  the  course  of 
my  limited  experience,  to  encounter  young  men  of  the  kind, 
who  had  overwhelmed  me  by  their  verbosity. 

Mr.  Somerville  smiled.  "I trust,"  said  he,  kindly,  "that 
you  will  guard  against  these  errors.  Avoid  the  eagerness  with 
which  a  young  man  is  apt  to  hurry  into  conversation,  and  to 
utter  the  crude  and  ill-digested  notions  which  he  has  picked  up 
in  his  recent  studies.  Be  assured  that  extensive  and  accurate 
knowledge  is  the  slow  acquisition  of  a  studious  lif etime ;  that  a 
young  man,  however  pregnant  his  wit,  and  prompt  his  talent, 
can  have  mastered  but  the  rudiments  of  learning,  and,  in  a 
manner,  attained  the  implements  of  study.  Whatever  may 
have  been  your  past  assiduity,  you  must  be  sensible  that  as 
yet  you  have  but  reached  the  threshold  of  true  knowledge;  but 
at  the  same  time,  you  have  the  advantage  that  you  are  still 
very  young,  and  have  ample  time  to  learn." 

Here  our  conference  ended.  I  walked  out  of  the  study,  a  very 
different  being  from  what  I  was  on  entering  it.  I  had  gone  in 
with  the  air  of  a  professor  about  to  deliver  a  lecture ;  I  came 
out  like  a  student  who  had  failed  in  his  examination,  and  been 
degraded  in  his  class. 

"  Very  young,"  and  "on  the- threshold  of  knowledge" !  This 
was  extremely  flattering,  to  one  who  had  considered  himself 
an  accomplished  scholar,  and  profound  philosopher. 

"It  is  singular,"  thought  I;  "there  seems  to  have  been  a 
spell  upon  my  faculties,  ever  since  I  have  been  in  this  house. 
I  certainly  have  not  been  able  to  do  myself  justice.  Whenever 
I  have  undertaken  to  advise,  I  have  had  the  tables  turned  upon 
me.  It  must  be  that  I  am  strange  and  diffident  among  people 
I  am  not  accustomed  to.  I  wish  they  could  hear  me  talk  at 
home !" 

"After  all,"  added  I,  on  further  reflection,  "after  all,  there 
is  a  great  deal  of  force  in  what  Mr.  Somerville  has  said.  Some- 
how or  other,  these  men  of  the  world  do  now  and  then  hit 
upon  remarks  that  would  do  credit  to  a  philosopher.  Some  of 
his  general  observations  came  so  home,  that  I  almost  thought 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  4J 

they  were  meant  for  myself.  His  advice  about  adopting  a 
system  of  study  is  very  judicious.  I  will  immediately  put  it 
in  practice.  My  mind  shall  operate  henceforward  with  the 
regularity  of  clock-work." 

How  far  I  succeeded  in  adopting  this  plan,  how  I  fared  in 
the  further  pursuit  of  knowledge,  and  how  I  succeeded  in  my 
suit  to  Julia  Somerville,  may  afford  matter  for  a  further  com- 
munication to  the  public,  if  this  simple  record  of  my  early  life 
is  fortunate  enough  to  excite  any  curiosity. 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE. 

"A    TIME    OF    UNEXAMPLED    PROSPERITY." 

IN  the  course  of  a  voyage  from  England,  I  once  fell  in  with 
a  convoy  of  merchant  ships  bound  for  the  West  Indies.  The 
weather  was  uncommonly  bland ;  and  the  ships  vied  with  each 
other  in  spreading  sail  to  catch  a  light,  favoring  breeze,  until 
their  hulls  were  almost  hidden  beneath  a  cloud  of  canvas. 
The  breeze  went  down  with  the  sun,  and  his  last  yellow  rays 
shone  upon  a  thousand  sails,  idly  napping  against  the  masts. 

I  exulted  in  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  and  augured  a  pros- 
perous voyage;  but  the  veteran  master  of  the  ship  shook  his 
head,  and  pronounced  this  halcyon  calm  a  "  weather-breeder." 
And  so  it  proved.  A  storm  burst  forth  in  the  night;  the  sea 
roared  and  raged ;  and  when  the  day  broke,  I  beheld  the  late 
gallant  convoy  scattered  in  every  direction ;  some  dismasted, 
others  scudding  under  bare  poles,  and  many  firing  signals  of 
distress. 

I  have  since  been  occasionally  reminded  of  this  scene,  by 
those  calm,  sunny  seasons  in  the  commercial  world,  which  are 
known  by  the  name  of  "times  of  unexampled  prosperity." 
They  are  the  sure  weather-breeders  of  traffic.  Every  now  and 
then  the  world  is  visited  by  one  of  these  delusive  seasons,  when 
"  the  credit  system,"  as  it  is  called,  expands  to  full  luxuriance, 
everybody  trusts  everybody:  a  bad  debt  is  a  thing  unheard  of; 
the  broad  way  to  certain  and  sudden  wealth  lies  plain  and 
open ;  and  men  are  tempted  to  dash  forward  boldly,  from  the 
facility  of  borrowing. 

Promissory   notes,  interchanged   between   scheming   indi- 


42  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

viduals,  are  liberally  discounted  at  the  banks,  which  become 
so  many  mints  to  coin  words  into  cash ;  and  as  the  supply  of 
words  is  inexhaustible,  it  may  readily  be  supposed  what  a  vast 
amount  of  promissory  capital  is  soon  in  circulation.  Every  one 
now  talks  in  thousands ;  nothing  is  heard  but  gigantic  opera- 
tions in  trade ;  great  purchases  and  sales  of  real  property,  and 
immense  sums  made  at  every  transfer.  All,  to  be  sure,  as  yet 
exists  in  promise;  but  the  believer  in  promises  calculates  the 
aggregate  as  solid  capital,  and  falls  back  in  amazement  at  the 
amount  of  public  wealth,  the  "unexampled  state  of  public 
prosperity." 

Now  is  the  time  for  speculative  and  dreaming  or  designing 
men.  They  relate  their  dreams  and  projects  to  the  ignorant 
and  credulous,  dazzle  them  with  golden  visions,  and  set  them 
madding  after  shadows.  The  example  of  one  stimulates 
another;  speculation  rises  on  speculation;  bubble  rises  on 
bubble;  every  one  helps  with  his  breath  to  swell  the  windy 
superstructure,  and  admires  and  wonders  at  the  magnitude  of 
the  inflation  he  has  contributed  to  produce. 

Speculation  is  the  romance  of  trade,  and  casts  contempt  upon 
all  its  sober  realities.  It  renders  the  stock-jobber  a  magician, 
and  the  exchange  a  region  of  enchantment.  It  elevates  the 
merchant  into  a  kind  of  knight-errant,  or  rather  a  commercial 
Quixote.  The  slow  but  sure  gains  of  snug  percentage  become 
despicable  in  his  eyes;  no  "operation"  is  thought  worthy  of 
attention,  that  does  not  double  or  treble  the  investment.  No 
business  is  worth  following,  that  does  not  promise  an  imme- 
diate fortune.  As  he  sits  musing  over  his  ledger,  with  pen 
behind  his  ear,  he  is  like  La  Mancha's  hero  in  his  study, 
dreaming  over  his  books  of  chivalry.  His  dusty  counting- 
house  fades  before  his  eyes,  or  changes  into  a  Spanish  mine; 
he  gropes  after  diamonds,  or  dives  after  pearls.  The  subter- 
ranean garden  of  Aladdin  is  nothing  to  the  realms  of  wealth 
that  break  upon  his  imagination. 

Could  this  delusion  always  last,  the  lif  e  of  a  merchant  would 
indeed  be  a  golden  dream;  but  it  is  as  short  as  it  is  brilliant. 
Let  but  a  doubt  enter,  and  the  "season  of  unexampled  pros- 
perity" is  at  end.  The  coinage  of  words  is  suddenly  curtailed; 
the  promissory  capital  begins  to  vanish  into  smoke ;  a  panic 
succeeds,  and  the  whole  superstructure,  built  upon  credit, 
and  reared  by  speculation,  crumbles  to  the  ground,  leaving 
scarce  a  wreck  behind: 

"  It  is  such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  of." 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  43 

When  a  man  of  business,  therefore,  hears  on  every  side 
rumors  of  fortunes  suddenly  acquired;  when  he  finds  banks 
liberal,  and  brokers  busy ;  when  he  sees  adventurers  flush  ot 
paper  capital,  and  full  of  scheme  and  enterprise ;  when  he  per- 
ceives a  greater  disposition  to  buy  than  to  sell ;  when  trade 
overflows  its  accustomed  channels  and  deluges  the  country; 
when  he  hears  of  new  regions  of  commercial  adventure;  of 
distant  marts  and  distant  mines,  swallowing  merchandise  and 
disgorging  gold;  when  he  finds  joint  stock  companies  of  all 
kinds  forming;  railroads,  canals,  and  locomotive  engines, 
springing  up  on  every  side ;  when  idlers  suddenly  become  men 
of  business,  and  dash  into  the  game  of  commerce  as  they  would 
into  the  hazards  of  the  faro  table ;  when  he  beholds  the  streets 
glittering  with  new  equipages,  palaces  conjured  up  by  the 
magic  of  speculation ;  tradesmen  flushed  with  sudden  success, 
and  vying  with  each  other  in  ostentatious  expense ;  in  a  word, 
when  he  hears  the  whole  community  joining  in  the  theme  of 
"unexampled  prosperity,"  let  him  look  upon  the  whole  as  a 
"weather-breeder,"  and  prepare  for  the  impending  storm. 

The  foregoing  remarks  are  intended  merely  as  a  prelude  to 
a  narrative  I  am  about  to  lay  before  the  public,  of  one  of  the 
most  memorable  instances  of  the  infatuation  of  gain,  to  be 
found  in  the  whole  history  of  commerce.  I  allude  to  the 
famous  Mississippi  bubble.  It  is  a  matter  that  has  passed  into 
a  proverb,  and  become  a  phrase  in  every  one's  mouth,  yet  of 
which  not  one  merchant  in  ten  has  probably  a  distinct  idea. 
I  have  therefore  thought  that  an  authentic  account  of  it  would 
be  interesting  and  salutary,  at  the  present  moment,  when  we 
are  suffering  under  the  effects  of  a  severe  access  of  the  credit 
system,  and  just  recovering  from  one  of  its  ruinous  delusions. 


Before  entering  into  the  story  of  this  famous  chimera,  it  is 
proper  to  give  a  few  particulars  concerning  the  individual  who 
engendered  it.  John  Law  was  born  in  Edinburgh  in  1671. 
His  father,  William  Law,  was  a  rich  goldsmith,  and  left  his 
son  an  estate  of  considerable  value,  called  Lauriston,  situated 
about  four  miles  from  Edinburgh.  Goldsmiths,  in  those  days, 
acted  occasionally  as  bankers,  and  his  father's  operations, 
under  this  character,  may  have  originally  turned  the  thoughts 
of  the  youth  to  the  science  of  calculation,  in  which  he  became 
an  adept ;  so  that  at  an  early  age  he  excelled  in  playing  at  all 
garner  of  combination. 


44  THE  CRA  YON  PAPERS. 

In  1694  he  appeared  in  London,  where  a  handsome 
and  an  easy  and  insinuating  address,  gained  him  currency  in 
the  first  circles,  and  the  nick-name  of  "Beau  Law."  The  same 
personal  advantages  gave  him  success  in  the  world  of  gal- 
lantry, until  he  became  involved  in  a  quarrel  with  Beau 
Wilson,  his  rival  in  fashion,  whom  he  killed  in  a  duel,  and 
then  fled  to  France,  to  avoid  prosecution. 

He  returned  to  Edinburgh  in  1700,  and  remained  there  seve- 
ral years ;  during  which  time  he  first  broached  his  great  credit 
system,  offering  to  supply  the  deficiency  of  coin  by  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  bank,  which,  according  to  his  views,  might  emit 
a  paper  currency,  equivalent  to  the  whole  landed  estate  of  the 
kingdom. 

His  scheme  excited  great  astonishment  in  Edinburgh ;  but, 
though  the  government  was  not  sufficiently  advanced  in  finan- 
cial knowledge  to  detect  the  fallacies  upon  which  it  was 
founded,  Scottish  caution  and  suspicion  served  in  the  place 
of  wisdom,  and  the  project  was  rejected.  Law  met  with  no 
better  success  with  the  English  Parliament ;  and  the  fatal  affair 
of  the  death  of  Wilson  still  hanging  over  him,  for  which  he 
had  never  been  able  to  procure  a  pardon,  he  again  went  to 
France. 

The  financial  affairs  of  France  were  at  this  time  in  a  deplor- 
able condition.  The  wars,  the  pomp  and  profusion,  of  Louis 
XIV.,  and  his  religious  persecutions  of  whole  classes  of  the 
most  industrious  of  his  subjects,  had  exhausted  his  treasury- 
and  overwhelmed  the  nation  with  debt.  The  old  monarch 
clung  to  his  selfish  magnificence,  and  could  not  be  induced  to 
diminish  his  enormous  expenditure ;  and  his  minister  of  finance 
was  driven  to  his  wits'  end  to  devise  all  kinds  of  disastrous 
expedients  to  keep  up  the  royal  state,  and  to  extricate  the 
nation  from  its  embarrassments. 

In  this  state  of  things,  Law  ventured  to  bring  forward  his 
financial  project.  It  was  founded  on  the  plan  of  the  Bank 
of  England,  which  had  already  been  in  successful  operation 
several  years.  He  met  with  immediate  patronage,  and  a  con- 
genial spirit,  hi  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  who  had  married  a 
natural  daughter  of  the  king.  The  duke  had  been  astonished 
at  the  facility  with  which  England  had  supported  the  burden 
of  a  public  debt,  created  by  the  wars  of  Anne  and  William, 
and  which  exceeded  in  amount  that  under  which  France  was 
groaning.  The  whole  matter  was  soon  explained  by  Law  to 
his  satisfaction.  The  latter  maintained  that  England  had 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  45 

stopped  at  the  mere  threshold  of  an  art  capable  of  creating 
unlimited  sources  of  national  wealth.  The  duke  was  dazzled 
with  his  splendid  views  and  specious  reasonings,  and  thought 
he  clearly  comprehended  his  system.  Demarets,  the  Comp- 
troller General  of  Finance,  was  not  so  easily  deceived.  He 
pronounced  the  plan  of  Law  more  pernicious  than  any  of  the 
disastrous  expedients  that  the  government  had  yet  been  driveo 
to.  The  old  king  also,  Louis  XTV.,  detested  all  innovations, 
especially  those  which  came  from  a  rival  nation ;  the  project 
of  a  bank,  therefore,  was  utterly  rejected. 

Law  remained  for  a  while  in  Paris,  leading  a  gay  and  affluent 
existence,  owing  to  his  handsome  person,  easy  manners,  flexi- 
ble temper,  and  a  faro-bank  which  he  had  set  up.  His  agree- 
able career  was  interrupted  by  a  message  from  D'Argenson, 
Lieutenant  General  of  Police,  ordering  him  to  quit  Paris, 
alleging  that  he  was  "rather  too  skilful  at  the  game  which  he 
had  introduced.'1'1 

For  several  succeeding  years  he  shifted  his  residence  from 
state  to  state  of  Italy  and  Germany ;  offering  his  scheme  of 
finance  to  every  court  that  he  visited,  but  without  success. 
The  Duke  of  Savoy,  Victor  Amadeus,  afterward  King  of  Sar- 
dinia, was  much  struck  with  his  project ;  but  after  considering 
it  for  a  time,  replied,  "lam  not  sufficiently  powerful  to  ruin 
myself.'" 

The  shifting,  adventurous  life  of  Law,  and  the  equivocal 
means  by  which  he  appeared  to  live,  playing  high,  and  always 
with  great  success,  threw  a  cloud  of  suspicion  over  him,  wher- 
ever he  went,  and  caused  him  to  be  expelled  by  the  magistracy 
from  the  semi-commercial,  semi-aristocratical  cities  of  Venice 
and  Genoa. 

The  events  of  1715  brought  Law  back  again  to  Paris.  Louis 
XIV.  was  dead.  Louis  XV.  was  a  mere  child,  and  during  his 
minority  the  Duke  of  Orleans  held  the  reigns  of  government  as 
Regent.  Law  had  at  length  found  his  man. 

The  Duke  of  Orleans  has  been  differently  represented  by 
different  contemporaries.  He  appears  to  have  had  excellent 
natural  qualities,  perverted  by  a  bad  education.  He  was  of 
the  middle  size,  easy  and  graceful,  with  an  agreeable  counte- 
nance, and  open,  affable  demeanor.  His  mind  was  quick  and 
sagacious,  rather  than  profound;  and  his  quickness  of  intel- 
lect, and  excellence  of  memory,  supplied  the  lack  of  studious 
application.  His  wit  was  prompt  and  pungent ;  he  expressed 
himself  with  vivacity  and  precision-,  his  imagination  was  vivid, 


46  TEE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

his  temperament  sanguine  and  joyous;  his  courage  daring. 
His  mother,  the  Duchess  of  Orleans,  expressed  his  character  in 
a  jeu  d'esprit.  "The  fairies,"  said  she,  "were  invited  to  be 
present  at  his  birth,  and  each  one  conferred  a  talent  on  my 
son ;  he  possesses  them  all.  Unfortunately,  we  had  forgotten 
to  invite  an  old  fairy,  who,  arriving  after  all  the  others,  ex- 
claimed, '  He  shall  have  all  the  talents,  excepting  that  to  make 
a  good  use  of  them.' " 

Under  proper  tuition,  the  Duke  might  have  risen  to  real 
greatness;  but  in  his  early  years,  he  was  put  under  the  tute- 
lage of  the  Abbe  Dubois,  one  of  the  subtlest  and  basest  spirits 
that  ever  intrigued  its  way  into  eminent  place  and  power. 
The  Abbe  was  of  low  origin,  and  despicable  exterior,  totally 
destitute  of  morals,  and  perfidious  in  the  extreme ;  but  with  a 
supple,  insinuating  address,  and  an  accommodating  spirit, 
tolerant  of  all  kinds  of  profligacy  in  others.  Conscious  of  his 
own  inherent  baseness,  he  sought  to  secure  an  influence  over 
his  pupil,  by  corrupting  his  principles  and  fostering  his  vices ; 
he  debased  him,  to  keep  himself  from  being  despised.  Unfor- 
tunately he  succeeded.  To  the  early  precepts  of  this  infamous 
pander  have  been  attributed  those  excesses  that  disgraced  the 
manhood  of  the  Eegent,  and  gave  a  licentious  character  to  his 
whole  course  of  government.  His  love  of  pleasure,  quickened 
and  indulged  by  those  who  should  have  restrained  it,  led  him 
into  all  kinds  of  sensual  indulgence.  He  had  been  taught  to 
think  lightly  of  the  most  serious  duties  and  sacred  ties ;  to  turn 
virtue  into  a  jest,  and  consider  religion  mere  hypocrisy.  He 
was  a  gay  misanthrope,  that  had  a  sovereign  but  sportive  con- 
tempt for  mankind;  believed  that  his  most  devoted  servant 
would  be  his  enemy,  if  interest  prompted;  and  maintained  that 
an  honest  man  was  he  who  had  the  art  to  conceal  that  he  was 
the  contrary. 

He  surrounded  himself  with  a  set  of  dissolute  men  like  him- 
self; who,  let  loose  from  the  restraint  under  which  they  had 
been  held,  during  the  latter  hypocritical  days  of  Louis  XIV., 
now  gave  way  to  every  kind  of  debauchery.  With  these  men 
the  Regent  used  to  shut  himself  up,  after  the  hours  of  business, 
and  excluding  all  graver  persons  and  graver  concerns,  celebrate 
the  most  drunken  and  disgusting  orgies ;  where  obscenity  and 
blasphemy  formed  the  seasoning  of  conversation.  For  the 
profligate  companions  of  these  revels,  he  invented  the  appella- 
tion of  his  rou^s,  the  literal  meaning  of  which  is  men  broken 
on  the  wheel ;  intended,  no  doubt,  to  express  their  broken-down 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  47 

characters  and  dislocated  fortunes ;  although  a  contemporary 
asserts  that  it  designated  the  punishment  that  most  of  them 
merited.  Madame  de  Labran,  who  was  present  at  one  of  the 
Regent's  suppers,  was  disgusted  by  the  conduct  and  conversa- 
tion of  the  host  and  his  guests,  and  observed  at  table,  that  God, 
after  he  had  created  man,  took  the  refuse  clay  that  was  left, 
and  made  of  it  the  souls  of  lacqueys  and  princes. 

Such  was  the  man  that  now  ruled  the  destinies  of  France. 
Law  found  him  full  of  perplexities,  from  the  disastrous  state 
of  the  finances.  He  had  already  tampered  with  the  coinage, 
calling  in  the  coin  of  the  nation,  re-stamping  it,  and  issuing  it 
at  a  nominal  increase  of  one  fifth ;  thus  defrauding  the  nation 
out  of  twenty  per  cent  of  its  capital.  He  was  not  likely,  there- 
fore, to  be  scrupulous  about  any  means  likely  to  relieve  him 
from  financial  difficulties ;  he  had  even  been  led  to  listen  to  the 
cruel  alternative  of  a  national  bankruptcy. 

Under  these  circumstances,  Law  confidently  brought  forward 
his  scheme  of  a  bank,  that  was  to  pay  off  the  national  debt,  in- 
crease the  revenue,  and  at  the  same  tune  diminish  the  taxes. 
The  following  is  stated  as  the  theory  by  which  he  recommended 
his  system,  to  the  Regent.  The  credit  enjoyed  by  a  banker  or 
a  merchant,  he  observed,  increases  his  capital  tenfold ;  that  is 
to  say,  he  who  has  a  capital  of  one  hundred  thousand  livres, 
may,  if  he  possess  sufficient  credit,  extend  his  operations  to  a 
million,  and  reap  profits  to  that  amount.  In  like  manner,  a  state 
that  can  collect  into  a  bank  all  the  current  coin  of  the  kingdom, 
would  be  as  powerful  as  if  its  capital  were  increased  tenfold.  The 
specie  must  be  drawn  into  the  bank,  not  by  way  of  loan,  or  by 
taxations,  but  in  the  way  of  deposit.  This  might  be  effected  in 
different  modes,  either  by  inspiring  confidence,  or  by  exerting 
authority.  One  mode,  he  observed,  had  already  been  in  use. 
Each  time  that  a  state  makes  a  re-coinage,  it  becomes  momen- 
tarily the  depositary  of  all  the  money  called  in,  belonging  to 
the  subjects  of  that  state.  His  bank  was  to  effect  the  same 
purpose ;  that  is  to  say,  to  receive  in  deposit  all  the  coin  of  the 
kingdom,  but  to  give  in  exchange  its  bills,  which,  being  of  an 
invariable  value,  bearing  an  interest,  and  being  payable  on 
demand,  would  not  only  supply  the  place  of  coin,  but  prove  a 
better  and  more  profitable  currency. 

The  Regent  caught  with  avidity  at  the  scheme.  It  suited  his 
bold,  reckless  spirit,  and  his  grasping  extravagance.  Not  that 
he  was  altogether  the  dupe  of  Law's  specious  projects ;  still  he 
was  apt,  like  many  other  men,  unskilled  in  the  arcana  of 


48  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

finance,  to  mistake  the  multiplication  of  money  for  the  mul 
tiplication  of  wealth;  not  understanding  that  it  was  a  mere 
agent  or  instrument  in  the  interchange  of  traffic,  to  represent 
the  value  of  the  various  productions  of  industry;  and  that  an 
increased  circulation  of  coin  or  bank  bills,  in  the  shape  of  cur- 
rency, only  adds  a  proportionably  increased  and  fictitious 
value  to  such  productions.  Law  enlisted  the  vanity  of  the 
Regent  in  his  cause.  He  persuaded  him  that  he  saw  more 
clearly  than  others  into  sublime  theories  of  finance,  which 
were  quite  above  the  ordinary  apprehension.  He  used  to  de- 
clare that,  excepting  the  Regent  and  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  no 
one  had  thoroughly  comprehended  his  system. 

It  is  certain  that  it  met  with  strong  opposition  from  the 
Eegent's  ministers,  the  Duke  de  Noailles  and  the  Chancellor 
d'Anguesseau ;  and  it  was  no  less  strenuously  opposed  by  the 
Parliament,  of  Paris.  Law,  however,  had  a  potent  though 
secret  coadjutor  in  the  Abbe  Dubois,  now  rising,  during  the 
regency,  into  great  political  power,  and  who  retained  a  baneful 
influence  over  the  mind  of  the  Regent.  This  wily  priest,  as 
avaricious  as  he  was  ambitious,  drew  large  sums  from  Law  as 
subsidies,  and  aided  him  greatly  in  many  of  his  most  pernicious 
operations.  He  aided  him,  in  the  present  instance,  to  fortify 
the  mind  of  the  Regent  against  all  the  remonstrances  of  his 
ministers  and  the  parliament. 

Accordingly,  on  the  2d  of  May,  1716,  letters  patent  were 
granted  to  Law,  to  establish  a  bank  of  deposit,  discount,  and 
circulation,  under  the  firm  of  "Law  and  Company,"  to  con- 
tinue for  twenty  years.  The  capital  was  fixed  at  six  millions 
of  livres,  divided  into  shares  of  five  hundred  livres  each,  which 
were  to  be  sold  for  twenty-five  per  cent  of  the  regent's  debased 
coin,  and  seventy-five  per  cent  of  the  public  securities ;  which 
were  then  at  a  great  reduction  from  their  nominal  value,  and 
which  then  amounted  to  nineteen  hundred  millions.  The  os- 
tensible object  of  the  bank,  as  set  forth  in  the  patent,  was  to 
encourage  the  commerce  and  manufactures  of  France.  The 
louis  d'ors  and  crowns  of  the  bank  were  always  to  retain  the 
same  standard  of  value,  and  its  bills  to  be  payable  in  them  on 
demand. 

At  the  outset,  while  the  bank  was  limited  in  its  operations, 
and  while  its  paper  really  represented  the  specie  in  its  vaults, 
it  seemed  to  realize  all  that  had  been  promised  from  it.  It 
rapidly  acquired  public  confidence,  and  an  extended  circular 
tion,  and  produced  an  activity  in  commerce,  unknown  under 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  49 

Che  baneful  government  of  Louis  XIV.  As  the  bills  of  the 
bank  bore  an  interest,  and  as  it  was  stipulated  they  would  be 
of  invariable  value,  and  as  hints  had  been  artfully  circulated 
that  the  coin  would  experience  successive  diminution,  every- 
body hastened  to  the  bank  to  exchange  gold  and  silver  for 
paper.  So  great  became  the  throng  of  depositors,  and  so  in- 
tense their  eagerness,  that  there  was  quite  a  press  and  struggle 
at  the  bank  door,  and  a  ludicrous  panic  was  awakened,  as  if 
there  was  danger  of  their  not  being  admitted.  An  anecdote  of 
the  time  relates  that  one  of  the  clerks,  with  an  ominous  smile, 
called  out  to  the  struggling  multitude,  "  Have  a  little  patience, 
my  friends ;  we  mean  to  take  all  your  money ;"  an  assertion 
disastrously  verified  in  the  sequel. 

Thus,  by  the  simple  establishment  of  a  bank,  Law  and  the 
Regent  obtained  pledges  of  confidence  for  the  consummation  of 
further  and  more  complicated  schemes,  as  yet  hidden  from  the 
public.  In  a  little  while,  the  bank  shares  rose  enormously,  and 
the  amount  of  its  notes  in  circulation  exceeded  one  hundred 
and  ten  millions  of  livres.  A  subtle  stroke  of  policy  had  ren- 
dered it  popular  with  the  aristocracy.  Louis  XIV.  had  several 
years  previously  imposed  an  income  tax  of  a  tenth,  giving  his 
royal  word  that  it  should  cease  in  1717.  This  tax  had  been 
exceedingly  irksome  to  the  privileged  orders ;  and  in  the  present 
disastrous  times  they  had  dreaded  an  augmentation  of  it.  In 
consequence  of  the  successful  operation  of  Law's  scheme,  how- 
ever, the  tax  was  abolished,  and  now  nothing  was  to  be  heard 
among  the  nobility  and  clergy,  but  praises  of  the  Regent  and 
the  bank. 

Hitherto  all  had  gone  well,  and  all  might  have  continued  to 
go  well,  had  not  the  paper  system  been  further  expanded. 
But  Law  had  yet  the  grandest  part  of  his  scheme  to  develop. 
He  had  to  open  his  ideal  world  of  speculation,  his  El  Dorado 
of  unbounded  wealth.  The  English  had  brought  the  vast 
imaginary  commerce  of  the  South  Seas  in  aid  of  their  bank- 
ing operations.  Law  sought  to  bring,  as  an  immense  auxiliary 
of  his  bank,  the  whole  trade  of  the  Mississippi.  Under  this 
name  was  included  not  merely  the  river  so  called,  but  the  vast 
region  known  as  Louisiana,  extending  from  north  latitude  29° 
up  to  Canada  in  north  latitude  40°.  This  country  had  been 
granted  by  Louis  XIV.  to  the  Sieur  Crozat,  but  he  had  been 
induced  to  resign  his  patent.  In  conformity  to  the  plea  of 
Mr.  Law,  letters  patent  were  granted  in  August,  1717,  for  the 
creation  of  a  commercial  company,  which  was  to  have  the 


CO  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

colonizing  of  this  country,  and  the  monopoly  of  its  trade  and 
resources,  and  of  the  beaver  or  fur  trade  with  Canada.  It  was 
called  the  Western,  but  became  better  known  as  the  Missis- 
sippi Company.  The  capital  was  fixed  at  one  hundred  millions 
of  livres,  divided  into  shares,  bearing  an  interest  of  four  per 
cent,  which  were  subscribed  for  in  the  public  securities.  As 
the  bank  was  to  co-operate  with  the  company,  the  Regent 
ordered  that  its  bills  should  be  received  the  same  as  coin,  in 
all  payments  of  the  public  revenue.  Law  was  appointed  chief 
director  of  this  company,  which  was  an  exact  copy  of  the  Earl 
of  Oxford's  South  Sea  Company,  set  on  foot  in  1711,  and  which 
distracted  all  England  with  the  frenzy  of  speculation.  In  like 
manner  with  the  delusive  picturings  given  in  that  memorable 
scheme  of  the  sources  of  rich  trade  to  be  opened  in  the  South 
Sea  countries,  Law  held  forth  magnificent  prospects  of  the 
fortunes  to  be  made  in  colonizing  Louisiana,  which  was  repre- 
sented as  a  veritable  land  of  promise,  capable  of  yielding  every 
variety  of  the  most  precious  produce.  Reports,  too,  were  art- 
fully circulated,  with  great  mystery,  as  if  to  the  "chosen 
few,"  of  mines  of  gold  and  silver  recently  discovered  in  Loui- 
siana, and  which  would  insure  instant  wealth  to  the  early  pur- 
chasers. These  confidential  whispers  of  course  soon  became 
public ;  and  were  confirmed  by  travellers  fresh  from  the  Mis- 
sissippi, and  doubtless  bribed,  who  had  seen  the  mines  in 
question,  and  declared  them  superior  in  richness  to  those  of 
Mexico  and  Peru.  Nay,  more,  ocular  proof  was  furnished  to 
public  credulity,  in  ingots  of  gold  conveyed  to  the  mint,  as  if 
just  brought  from  the  mines  of  Louisiana. 

Extraordinary  measures  were  adopted  to  force  a  coloniza. 
tion.  An  edict  was  issued  to  collect  and  transport  settlers  to 
the  Mississippi.  The  police  lent  its  aid.  The  streets  and  pri- 
sons of  Paris,  and  of  the  provincial  cities,  were  swept  of  mendi- 
cants and  vagabonds  of  all  kinds,  who  were  conveyed  to  Havre 
do  Grace.  About  six  thousand  were  crowded  into  ships,  where 
no  precautions  had  been  taken  for  their  health  or  accommoda- 
tion. Instruments  of  all  kinds  proper  for  the  working  of 
mines  were  ostentatiously  paraded  in  public,  and  put  on  board 
the  vessels ;  and  the  whole  set  sail  for  this  fabled  El  Dorado, 
which  was  to  prove  the  grave  of  the  greater  part  of  its 
wretched  colonists. 

D'Anguesseau,  the  chancellor,  a  man  of  probity  and  integ- 
rity, still  lifted  his  voice  against  the  paper  system  of  Law,  and 
his  project  of  colonization,  and  was  eloquent  and  prophetic  in 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  5i 

picturing  the  evils  they  were  calculated  to  produce ;  the  pri- 
vate distress  and  public  degradation ;  the  corruption  of  morals 
and  manners ;  the  triumph  of  knaves  and  schemers ;  the  ruin 
of  fortunes,  and  downfall  of  families.  He  was  incited  more 
and  more  to  this  opposition  by  the  Duke  de  Noailles,  the  Min- 
ister of  Finance,  who  was  jealous  of  the  growing  ascendancy 
of  Law  over  the  mind  of  the  Eegent,  but  was  less  honest  than 
the  chancellor  in  his  opposition.  The  Eegent  was  excessively 
annoyed  by  the  difficulties  they  conjured  up  in  the  way  of  Ins 
darling  schemes  of  finance,  and  the  countenance  they  gave  to 
the  opposition  of  parliament ;  which  body,  disgusted  more  and 
more  with  the  abuses  of  the  regency,  and  the  system  of  Law, 
had  gone  so  far  as  to  carry  its  remonstrances  to  the  very  foot 
of  the  throne. 

He  determined  to  relieve  himself  from  these  two  ministers, 
who,  either  through  honesty  or  policy,  interfered  with  all  his 
plans.  Accordingly,  on  the  28th  of  January,  1718,  he  dis- 
missed the  chancellor  from  office,  and  exiled  him  to  his  estate 
in  the  country ;  and  shortly  afterward  removed  the  Duke  de 
Noailles  from  the  administration  of  the  finances. 

The  opposition  of  parliament  to  the  Eegent  and  his  measures 
was  carried  on  with  increasing  violence.  That  body  aspired  to 
an  equal  authority  with  the  Eegent  in  the  administration  of 
affairs,  and  pretended,  by  its  decree,  to  suspend  an  edict  of 
the  regency,  ordering  a  new  coinage  and  altering  the  value  of 
the  currency.  But  its  chief  hostility  was  levelled  against 
Law,  a  foreigner  and  a  heretic,  and  one  who  was  considered 
by  a  majority  of  the  members  in  the  light  of  a  malefactor.  In 
fact,  so  far  was  this  hostility  carried,  that  secret  measures  were 
taken  to  investigate  his  malversations,  and  to  collect  evidence 
against  him;  and  it  was  resolved  in  parliament  that,  should 
the  testimony  collected  justify  their  suspicions,  they  would 
have  him  seized  and  brought  before  them;  would  give  him  a 
brief  trial,  and  if  convicted,  would  hang  him  in  the  court- 
yard of  the  palace,  and  throw  open  the  gates  after  the  execu- 
tion, that  the  public  might  behold  his  corpse ! 

Law  received  intimation  of  the  danger  hanging  over  him, 
and  was  in  terrible  trepidation.  He  took  refuge  in  the  Palais 
Eoyal,  the  residence  of  the  Eegent,  and  implored  his  protec- 
tion. The  Eegent  himself  was  embarrassed  by  the  sturdy 
opposition  of  parliament,  which  contemplated  nothing  less 
than  a  decree  reversing  most  of  his  public  measures,  espe- 
cially those  of  finance.  His  indecision  kept  Law  for  a  time  in 


62  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

an  agony  of  terror  and  suspense.  Finally,  by  assembling  a 
board  of  justice,  and  bringing  to  his  aid  the  absolute  authority 
of  the  King,  he  triumphed  over  parliament  and  relieved  Law 
from  his  dread  of  being  hanged. 

The  system  now  went  on  with  flowing  sail.  The  Western  or 
Mississippi  Company,  being  identified  with  the  bank,  rapidly 
increased  in  power  and  privileges.  One  monopoly  after  an- 
other was  granted  to  it ;  the  trade  of  the  Indian  seas ;  the  slave 
trade  with  Senegal  and  Guinea ;  the  farming  of  tobacco ;  the 
national  coinage,  etc.  Each  new  privilege  was  made  a  pretext 
for  issuing  more  bills,  and  caused  an  immense  advance  in  the 
price  of  stock.  At  length,  on  the  4th  of  December,  1718,  the 
Eegent  gave  the  establishment  the  imposing  title  of  THE  ROYAL 
BANK,  and  proclaimed  that  he  had  effected  the  purchase  of  all 
the  shares,  the  proceeds  of  which  he  had  added  to  its  capital. 
This  measure  seemed  to  shock  the  public  feeling  more  than 
any  other  connected  with  the  system,  and  roused  the  indigna- 
tion of  parliament.  The  French  nation  had  been  so  accus- 
tomed to  attach  an  idea  of  everything  noble,  lofty,  and  mag- 
nificent, to  the  royal  name  and  person,  especially  during  the 
stately  and  sumptuous  reign  of  Louis  XIV.,  that  they  could 
not  at  first  tolerate  the  idea  of  royalty  being  in  any  degree 
mingled  with  matters  of  traffic  and  finance,  and  the  king 
being  in  a  manner  a  banker.  It  was  one  of  the  downward 
steps,  however,  by  which  royalty  lost  its  illusive  splendor  in 
France,  and  became  gradually  cheapened  in  the  public  mind. 

Arbitrary  measures  now  began  to  be  taken  to  force  the 
bills  of  the  bank  into  artificial  currency.  On  the  27th  of 
December  appeared  an  order  in  council,  forbidding,  under 
severe  penalties,  the  payment  of  any  sum  above  six  hundred 
livres  in  gold  or  silver.  This  decree  rendered  bank  bills  neces- 
sary in  all  transactions  of  purchase  and  sale,  and  called  for  a 
new  emission.  The  prohibition  was  occasionally  evaded  or 
opposed ;  confiscations  were  the  consequence ;  informers  were 
rewarded,  and  spies  and  traitors  began  to  spring  up  in  all  the 
domestic  walks  of  lif  e. 

The  worst  effect  of  this  illusive  system  was  the  mania  for 
gain,  or  rather  for  gambling  in  stocks,  that  now  seized  upon 
the  whole  nation.  Under  the  exciting  effects  of  lying  reports, 
and  the  forcing  effects  of  government  decrees,  the  shares  of 
the  company  went  on  rising  in  value  until  they  reached 
thirteen  hundred  per  cent.  Nothing  was  now  spoken  of  but 
the  price  of  shares,  and  the  immense  fortunes  suddenly  made 


TEE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  53 

by  lucky  speculators.  Those  whom  Law  had  deluded  used 
every  means  to  delude  others.  The  most  extravagant  dreams 
were  indulged,  concerning  the  wealth  to  flow  in  upon  the  com- 
pany from  its  colonies,  its  trade,  and  its  various  monopolies. 
It  is  true,  nothing  as  yet  had  been  realized,  nor  could  in  some 
time  be  realized,  from  these  distant  sources,  even  if  pro- 
ductive ;  but  the  imaginations  of  speculators  are  ever  in  the 
advance,  and  their  conjectures  are  immediately  converted  into 
facts.  Lying  reports  now  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth,  of  sure 
avenues  to  fortune  suddenly  thrown  open.  The  more  extra- 
vagant the  fable,  the  more  readily  was  it  believed.  To  doubt 
was  to  awaken  anger,  or  incur  ridicule.  In  a  time  of  public 
infatuation,  it  requires  no  small  exercise  of  courage  to  doubt  a 
popular  fallacy, 

Paris  now  became  the  centre  of  attraction  for  the  adven- 
turous and  the  avaricious,  who  flocked  to  it,  not  merely  from 
the  provinces,  but  from  neighboring  countries.  A  stock  ex- 
change was  established  in  a  house  in  the  Rue  Quincampoix, 
and  became  immediately  the  gathering  place  of  stock-jobbers. 
The  exchange  opened  at  seven  o'clock,  with  the  beat  of  drum 
and  sound  of  bell,  and  closed  at  night  with  the  same  signals. 
Guards  were  stationed  at  each  end  of  the  street,  to  maintain 
order,  and  exclude  carriages  and  horses.  The  whole  street 
swarmed  throughout  the  day  like  a  bee-hive.  Bargains  of  all 
kinds  were  seized  upon  with  avidity.  Shares  of  stock  passed 
from  hand  to  hand,  mounting  in  value,  one  knew  not  why. 
Fortunes  were  made  in  a  moment,  as  if  by  magic ;  and  every 
lucky  bargain  prompted  those  around  to  a  more  desperate 
throw  of  the  die.  The  fever  went  on,  increasing  in  intensity 
as  the  day  declined ;  and  when  the  drum  beat,  and  the  bell 
rang,  at  night,  to  close  the  exchange,  there  were  exclamations 
of  impatience  and  despair,  as  if  the  wheel  of  fortune  had  sud- 
denly been  stopped  when  about  to  make  its  luckiest  evolution. 

To  engulf  all  classes  in  this  ruinous  vortex,  Law  now  split 
the  shares  of  fifty  millions  of  stock  each  into  one  hundred 
shares;  thus,  as  in  the  splitting  of  lottery  tickets,  accommo- 
dating the  venture  to  the  humblest  purse.  Society  was  thus 
stirred  up  to  its  very  dregs,  and  adventurers  of  the  lowest 
order  hurried  to  the  stock  market.  All  honest,  industrious 
pursuits,  and  modest  gains,  were  now  despised.  Wealth  was 
to  be  obtained  instantly,  without  labor,  and  without  stint. 
The  upper  classes  were  as  base  in  their  venality  as  the  lower. 
The  highest  and  most  powerful  nobles,  abandoning  all  gene- 


64  TBS  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

rous  pursuits  and  lofty  aims,  engaged  in  the  vile  scuffle  for 
gain.  They  were  even  baser  than  the  lower  classes ;  for  some 
of  them,  who  were  members  of  the  council  of  the  regency, 
abused  their  station  and  their  influence,  and  promoted  mea- 
sures by  which  shares  arose  while  in  their  hands,  and  they 
made  immense  profits. 

The  Duke  de  Bourbon,  the  Prince  of  Conti,  the  Dukes  de  la 
Force  and  D'Antin  were  among  the  foremost  of  these  illustrious 
stock-jobbers.  They  were  nicknamed  the  Mississippi  Lords, 
and  they  smiled  at  the  sneering  title.  In  fact,  the  usual  distinc- 
tions of  society  had  lost  their  consequence,  under  the  reign 
of  this  new  passion.  Bank,  talent,  military  fame,  no  longer 
inspired  deference.  All  respect  for  others,  all  self-respect, 
were  forgotten  in  the  mercenary  struggle  of  the  stock-market. 
Even  prelates  and  ecclesiastical  corporations,  forgetting  their 
true  objects  of  devotion,  mingled  among  the  votaries  of  Mam- 
mon. They  were  not  behind  those  who  wielded  the  civil 
power  in  fabricating  ordinances  suited  to  their  avaricious  pur- 
poses. Theological  decisions  forthwith  appeared,  in  which  the 
anathema  launched  by  the  Church  against  usury,  was  con- 
veniently construed  as  not  extending  to  the  traffic  in  bank 
shares ! 

The  Abbe  Dubois  entered  into  the  mysteries  of  stock-jobbing 
with  all  the  zeal  of  an  apostle,  and  enriched  himself  by  the 
spoils  of  the  credulous ;  and  he  continually  drew  large  sums 
from  Law,  as  considerations  for  his  political  influence.  Faith- 
less to  his  country,  in  the  course  of  his  gambling  speculations 
he  transferred  to  England  a  great  amount  of  specie,  which 
had  been  paid  into  the  royal  treasury ;  thus  contributing  to 
the  subsequent  dearth  of  the  precious  metals. 

The  female  sex  participated  in  this  sordid  frenzy.  Prin- 
cesses of  the  blood,  and  ladies  of  the  highest  nobility,  were 
among  the  most  rapacious  of  stock-jobbers.  The  Regent 
seemed  to  have  the  riches  of  Croesus  at  his  command,  and 
lavished  money  by  hundreds  of  thousands  upon  his  female 
relatives  and  favorites,  as  well  as  upon  his  routs,  the  dissolute 
companions  of  his  debauches.  "My  son,"  writes  the  Re- 
gent's mother,  hi  her  correspondence,  "gave  me  shares  to  the 
amount  of  two  millions,  which  I  distributed  among  my  houset 
hold.  The  King  also  took  several  millions  for  his  own  house- 
hold. All  the  royal  family  have  had  them;  all  the  children 
and  grandchildren  of  France,  and  the  princes  of  the  blood." 

Luxury  and  extravagance  fee»t  pace  with  this  sudden  infla- 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  55 

tion  of  fancied  wealth.  The  hereditary  palaces  of  nobles  were 
pulled  down,  and  rebuilt  on  a  scale  of  augmented  splendor. 
Entertainments  were  given,  of  incredible  cost  and  magnificence. 
Never  before  had  been  such  display  in  houses,  furniture,  equi- 
pages, and  amusements.  This  was  particularly  the  case  among 
persons  of  the  lower  ranks,  who  had  suddenly  become  possessed 
of  millions.  Ludicrous  anecdotes  are  related  of  some  of  these 
upstarts.  One,  who  had  just  launched  a  splendid  carriage, 
when  about  to  use  it  for  the  first  time,  instead  of  getting  in  at 
the  door,  mounted,  through  habitude,  to  his  accustomed  place 
behind.  Some  'ladies  of  quality,  seeing  a  well-dressed  woman 
covered  with  diamonds,  but  whom  nobody  knew,  alight  from  a. 
very  handsome  carriage,  inquired  who  she  was  of  the  footman. 
He  replied,  with  a  sneer:  "It  is  a  lady  who  has  recently  tum- 
bled from  a  garret  into  this  carriage."  Mr.  Law's  domestics 
were  said  to  become  in  like  manner  suddenly  enriched  by  the 
crumbs  that  fell  from  his  table.  His  coachman,  having  made 
his  fortune,  retired  from  his  service.  Mr.  Law  requested  him 
to  procure  a  coachman  in  his  place.  He  appeared  the  next  day 
with  two,  whom  he  pronounced  equally  good,  and  told  Mr. 
Law:  "Take  which  of  them  you  choose,  and  I  will  take  the 
other !" 

Nor  were  these  novi  Tiomini  treated  with  the  distance  and 
disdain  they  would  formerly  have  experienced  from  the  haughty 
aristocracy  of  France.  The  pride  of  the  old  noblesse  had  been 
stifled  by  the  stronger  instinct  of  avarice.  They  rather  sought 
the  intimacy  and  confidence  of  these  lucky  upstarts ;  and  it  has 
been  observed  that  a  nobleman  would  gladly  take  his  seat  at 
the  table  of  the  fortunate  lacquey  of  yesterday,  in  hopes  of 
learning  from  him  the  secret  of  growing  rich ! 

Law  now  went  about  with  a  countenance  radiant  with  suc- 
cess and  apparently  dispensing  wealth  on  every  side.  "  He  is 
admirably  skilled  in  all  that  relates  to  finance,"  writes  the 
Duchess  of  Orleans,  the  Regent's  mother,  "and  has  put  the 
affairs  of  the  state  in  such  good  order  that  all  the  king's  debts 
have  been  paid.  He  is  so  much  run  after  that  he  has  no  repose 
night  or  day.  A  duchess  even  kissed  his  hand  publicly.  If  a 
duchess  can  do  this,  what  will  other  ladies  do?" 

Wherever  he  went,  his  path,  we  are  told,  was  beset  by  a 
sordid  throng,  who  waited  to  see  him  pass,  and  sought  to  ob- 
tain the  favor  of  a  word,  a  nod,  or  smile,  as  if  a  mere  glance 
from  him  would  bestow  fortune.  "When  at  home,  his  house 
was  absolutely  besieged  by  furious  candidates  for  fortune. 


56  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

"They  forced  the  doors,"  says  the  Duke  de  St.  Simon;  "they 
scaled  his  windows  from  the  garden;  they  made  their  way 
into  his  cabinet  down  the  chimney !" 

The  same  venal  court  was  paid  by  all  classes  to  his  family. 
The  highest  ladies  of  the  court  vied  with  each  other  in  mean- 
nesses to  purchase  the  lucrative  friendship  of  Mrs.  Law  and  her 
daughter.  They  waited  upon  them  with  as  much  assiduity  and 
adulation  as  if  they  had  been  princesses  of  the  blood.  The 
Regent  one  day  expressed  a  desire  that  some  duchess  should 
accompany  his  daughter  to  Genoa.  "  My  Lord,"  said  some  ono 
present,  ' '  if  you  would  have  a  choice  from  among  the  duchesses, 
you  need  but  send  to  Mrs.  Law's;  you  will  find  them  all  assem- 
bled there." 

The  wealth  of  Law  rapidly  increased  with  the  expansion  of 
the  bubble.  In  the  course  of  a  few  months  he  purchased  four- 
teen titled  estates,  paying  for  them  in  paper;  and  the  public 
hailed  these  sudden  and  vast  acquisitions  of  landed  property  as 
so  many  proofs  of  the  soundness  of  his  system.  In  one  instance 
he  met  with  a  shrewd  bargainer,  who  had  not  the  general  faith 
in  his  paper  money.  The  President  de  Novion  insisted  on  being 
paid  for  an  estate  in  hard  coin.  Law  accordingly  brought  the 
amount,  four  hundred  thousand  livres,  in  specie,  saying,  with 
a  sarcastic  smile,  that  he  preferred  paying  in  money  as  its 
weight  rendered  it  a  mere  incumbrance.  As  it  happened,  the 
president  could  give  no  clear  title  to  the  land,  and  the  money 
had  to  be  refunded.  He  paid  it  back  in  paper,  which  Law 
dared  not  refuse,  lest  he  should  depreciate  it  in  the  market. 

The  course  of  illusory  credit  went  on  triumphantly  for  eigh- 
teen months.  Law  had  nearly  fulfilled  one  of  his  promises,  for 
the  greater  part  of  the  public  debt  had  been  paid  off;  but  how 
paid?  In  bank  shares,  which  had  been  trumped  up  several 
hundred  per  cent  above  their  value,  and  which  were  to  vanish 
like  smoko  in  the  hands  of  the  holders. 

One  of  the  most  striking  attributes  of  Law  was  the  impertur- 
bable assurance  and  self-possession  with  which  he  replied  to 
every  objection,  and  found  a  solution  for  every  problem.  He 
had  the  dexterity  of  a  juggler  in  evading  difficulties ;  and  what 
was  peculiar,  made  figures  themselves,  which  are  the  very 
elements  of  exact  demonstration,  the  means  to  dazzle  and  be- 
wilder. 

Toward  the  latter  end  of  1719  the  Mississippi  scheme  had 
reached  its  highest  point  of  glory.  Half  a  million  of  strangers 
had  crowded  into  Paris,  in  quest  of  fortune.  The  hotels  and 


THE  GEE  AT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  57 

^edging-houses  were  overflowing;  lodgings  were  procured  wit! 
excessive  difficulty;  granaries  were  turned  into  bed-rooms; 
provisions  had  risen   enormously  in  price;    splendid  houses 
were  multiplying  on  every  side ;  the  streets  were  crowded  with 
carriages ;  above  a  thousand  new  equipages  had  been  launched. 

On  the  eleventh  of  December,  Law  obtained  another  prohibi- 
tory decree,  for  the  purpose  of  sweeping  all  the  remaining 
specie  in  circulation  into  the  bank.  By  this  it  was  forbidden 
to  make  any  payment  in  silver  above  ten  livres,  or  in  gold 
above  three  hundred.  ^ 

The  repeated  decrees  of  this  nature,  the  object  of  which  was 
to  depreciate  the  value  of  gold,  and  increase  the  illusive  credit 
of  paper,  began  to  awaken  doubts  of  a  system  which  required 
such  bolstering.  Capitalists  gradually  awoke  from  their  be- 
wilderment. Sound  and  able  financiers  consulted  together,  and 
agreed  to  make  common  cause  against  this  continual  expansion 
of  a  paper  system.  The  shares  of  the  bank  and  of  the  company 
began  to  decline  in  value.  Wary  men  took  the  alarm,  and 
began  to  realize,  a  word  now  first  brought  into  use,  to  express 
the  conversion  of  ideal  property  into  something  real. 

The  Prince  of  Conti,  one  of  the  most  prominent  and  grasping 
of  the  Mississippi  lords,  was  the  first  to  give  a  blow  to  the 
credit  of  the  bank.  There  was  a  mixture  of  ingratitude  in  his 
conduct  that  characterized  the  venal  baseness  of  the  times. 
He  had  received  from  time  to  time  enormous  sums  from  Law, 
as  the  price  of  his  influence  and  patronage.  His  avarice  had 
increased  with  every  acquisition,  until  Law  was  compelled  to 
refuse  one  of  his  exactions.  In  revenge  the  prince  immediately 
sent  such  an  amount  of  paper  to  the  bank  to  be  cashed,  that  it 
required  four  wagons  to  bring  away  the  silver,  and  he  had  the 
meanness  to  loll  out  of  the  window  of  his  hotel  and  jest  and 
exult  as  it  was  trundled  into  his  port  cochere. 

This  was  the  signal  for  other  drains  of  like  nature.  The 
English  and  Dutch  merchants,  who  had  purchased  a  great 
amount  of  bank  paper  at  low  prices,  cashed  them  at  the  bank, 
and  carried  the  money  out  of  the  country.  Other  strangers 
did  the  like,  thus  draining  the  kingdom  of  its  specie,  and  leav- 
ing paper  in  its  place. 

The  Regent,  perceiving  these  symptoms  of  decay  in  the  sys- 
tem, sought  to  restore  it  to  public  confidence,  by  conferring 
marks  of  confidence  upon  its  author.  He  accordingly  resolved 
to  make  Law  Comptroller  General  of  the  Finances  of  France. 
There  was  a  material  obstacle  in  his  way.  Law  was  a  Protes- 


58  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

tant,  and  the  Regent,  unscrupulous  as  he  was  himself,  did  not 
dare  publicly  to  outrage  the  severe  edicts  which  Louis  XIV., 
in  his  bigot  days,  had  fulminated  against  all  heretics.  Law 
soon  let  him  know  that  there  would  be  no  difficulty  on  that 
head.  He  was  ready  at  any  moment  to  abjure  his  religion  in 
the  way  of  business.  For  decency's  sake,  however,  it  was 
judged  proper  he  should  previously  be  convinced  and  con- 
verted. A  ghostly  instructor  was  soon  found,  ready  to  ac- 
complish his  conversion  in  the  shortest  possible  time.  This 
was  the  Abbe  Tencin,  a  profligate  creature  of  the  profligate 
Dubois,  and  like  him  working  his  way  to  ecclesiastical  pro- 
motion and  temporal  wealth,  by  the  basest  means. 

Under  the  instructions  of  the  Abbe  Tencin,  Law  soon  mas- 
tered the  mysteries  and  dogmas  of  the  Catholic  doctrine ;  and, 
after  a  brief  course  of  ghostly  training,  declared  himself 
thoroughly  convinced  and  converted.  To  avoid  the  sneers 
and  jests  of  the  Parisian  public,  the  ceremony  of  abjuration 
took  place  at  Melun.  Law  made  a  pious  present  of  one  hun- 
dred thousand  livres  to  the  Church  of  St.  Eoque,  and  the  Abbe 
Tencin  was  rewarded  for  his  edifying  labors  by  sundry  shares 
and  bank  bills;  which  he  shrewdly  took  care  to  convert  into 
cash,  having  as  little  faith  in  the  system  as  in  the  piety  of  his 
new  convert.  A  more  grave  and  moral  community  might 
have  been  outraged  by  this  scandalous  farce ;  but  the  Parisians 
laughed  at  it  with  their  usual  levity,  and  contented  themselves 
with  making  it  the  subject  of  a  number  of  songs  and  epigrams. 

Law  now  being  orthodox  in  his  faith,  took  out  letters  of 
naturalization,  and  having  thus  surmounted  the  intervening 
obstacles,  was  elevated  by  the  Regent  to  the  post  of  Comp- 
troller General.  So  accustomed  had  the  community  become 
to  all  juggles  and  transmutations  in  this  hero  of  finance,  that 
no  one  seemed  shocked  or  astonished  at  his  sudden  elevation. 
On  the  contrary,  being  now  considered  perfectly  established  in 
place  and  power,  he  became  more  than  ever  the  object  of  venal 
adoration.  Men  of  rank  and  dignity  thronged  his  antecham- 
ber, waiting  patiently  their  turn  for  an  audience;  and  titled 
dames  demeaned  themselves  to  take  the  front  seats  of  the 
carriages  of  his  wife  and  daughter,  as  if  they  had  been  riding 
with  princesses  of  the  royal  blood.  Law's  head  grew  giddy 
with  his  elevation,  and  he  began  to  aspire  after  aristocratical 
distinction.'  There  was  to  be  a  court  ball,  at  which  several  of 
the  young  noblemen  were  to  dance  in  a  ballet  with  the  youth- 
ful King.  Law  requested  that  his  son  might  be  admitted  into 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  59 

the  ballet,  and  the  Regent  consented.  The  young  scions  of 
nobility,  however,  were  indignant  and  scouted  the  "intruding 
upstart."  Their  more  worldly  parents,  fearful  of  displeasing 
the  modern  Midas,  reprimanded  them  in  vain.  The  striplings 
had  not  yet  imbibed  the  passion  for  gain,  and  still  held  to  their 
high  blood.  The  son  of  the  banker  received  slights  and  annoy- 
ances on  all  sides,  and  the  public  applauded  them  for  their 
spirit.  A  fit  of  illness  came  opportunely  to  relieve  the  youth 
from  an  honor  which  would  have  cost  him  a  world  of  vexations 
and  affronts. 

In  February,  1720,  shortly  after  Law's  instalment  in  office,  a 
decree  came  out  uniting  the  bank  to  the  India  Company,  by 
which  last  name  the  whole  establishment  was  now  known. 
The  decree  stated  that  as  the  bank  was  royal,  the  King  was 
bound  to  make  good  the  value  of  its  bills ;  that  he  committed 
to  the  company  the  government  of  the  bank  for  fifty  years, 
and  sold  to  it  fifty  millions  of  stock  belonging  to  him,  for  nine 
hundred  millions;  a  simple  advance  of  eighteen  hundred  per 
cent.  The  decree  farther  declared,  in  the  King's  name,  that 
he  would  never  draw  on  the  bank,  until  the  value  of  his  drafts 
had  first  been  lodged  in  it  by  his  receivers  general. 

The  bank,  it  was  said,  had  by  this  time  issued  notes  to  the 
amount  of  one  thousand  millions ;  being  more  paper  than  all 
the  banks  of  Europe  were  able  to  circulate.  To  aid  its  credit, 
the  receivers  of  the  revenue  were  directed  to  take  bank  notes 
of  the  sub-receivers.  All  payments,  also,  of  one  hundred  livres 
and  upward  were  ordered  to  be  made  in  bank  notes.  These 
compulsory  measures  for  a  short  time  gave  a  false  credit  to  the 
bank,  which  proceeded  to  discount  merchants'  notes,  to  lend 
money  on  jewels,  plate,  and  other  valuables,  as  well  as  on 
mortgages. 

Still  farther  to  force  on  the  system  an  edict  next  appeared, 
forbidding  any  individual,  or  any  corporate  body,  civil  or 
religious,  to  hold  in  possession  more  than  five  hundred  livres 
in  current  coin;  that  is  to  say,  about  seven  louis-d'ors;  the 
value  of  the  louis-d'or  in  paper  being,  at  the  time,  seventy-two 
livres.  All  the  gold  and  silver  they  might  have  above  this 
pittance  was  to  be  brought  to  the  royal  bank,  and  exchanged 
either  for  shares  or  bills. 

As  confiscation  was  the  penalty  of  disobedience  to  this 
decree,  and  informers  were  assured  a  share  of  the  forfeitures, 
a  bounty  was  in  a  manner  held  out  to  domestic  spies  and 
traitors ;  and  the  most  odious  scrutiny  was  awakened  into  the 


60  THE  CRA70N  PAPERS. 

pecuniary  affairs  of  families  and  individuals.  The  very  confi- 
dence between  friends  and  relatives  was  impaired,  and  all  the 
domestic  ties  and  virtues  of  society  were  threatened,  until  a 
general  sentiment  of  indignation  broke  forth,  that  compelled 
the  Kegent  to  rescind  the  odious  decree.  Lord  Stairs,  the 
British  ambassador,  speaking  of  the  system  of  espionage  en- 
couraged by  this  edict,  observed  that  it  was  impossible  to 
doubt  that  Law  was  a  thorough  Catholic,  since  he  had  thus 
established  the  inquisition,  after  having  already  proved  tran- 
substantiation,  by  changing  specie  into  paper. 

Equal  abuses  had  taken  place  under  the  colonizing  project. 
In  his  thousand  expedients  to  amass  capital,  Law  had  sold 
parcels  of  land  in  Mississippi,  at  the  rate  of  three  thousand  livres 
for  a  league  square.  Many  capitalists  had  purchased  estates 
large  enough  to  constitute  almost  a  principality ;  the  only  evil 
was,  Law  had  sold  a  property  which  he  could  not  deliver. 
The  agents  of  police,  who  aided  in  recruiting  the  ranks  of  the 
colonists,  had  been  guilty  of  scandalous  impositions.  Under 
pretence  of  taking  up  mendicants  and  vagabonds,  they  had 
scoured  the  streets  at  night,  seizing  upon  honest  mechanics,  or 
their  sons,  and  hurrying  them  to  their  crimping-houses,  for 
the  sole  purpose  of  extorting  money  from  them  as  a  ransom. 
The  populace  was  roused  to  indignation  by  these  abuses.  The 
officers  of  police  were  mobbed  in  the  exercise  of  their  odious 
functions,  and  several  of  them  were  killed ;  which  put  an  end 
to  this  flagrant  abuse  of  power. 

In  March,  a  most  extraordinary  decree  of  the  council  fixed 
the  price  of  shares  of  the  India  Company  at  nine  thousand 
livres  each.  All  ecclesiastical  communities  and  hospitals  were 
now  prohibited  from  investing  money  at  interest,  hi  anything 
but  India  stock.  With  all  these  props  and  stays,  the  system 
continued  to  totter.  How  could  it  be  otherwise,  under  a  des-  j 
potic  government,  that  could  alter  the  value  of  property  at 
every  moment?  The  very  compulsory  measures  that  wer? 
adopted  to  establish  the  credit  of  the  bank  hastened  its  fall; 
plainly  showing  there  was  a  want  of  solid  security.  Lav 
caused  pamphlets  to  be  published,  setting  forth,  in  eloquent 
language,  the  vast  profits  that  must  accrue  to  holders  of 
the  stock,  and  the  impossibility  of  the  King's  ever  doing  it  any 
harm.  On  the  very  back  of  these  assertions  came  forth  an 
edict  of  the  King,  dated  the  22d  of  May,  wherein,  under  pre- 
tence of  having  reduced  the  value  of  hi;  coin,  it  was  declared 
necessary  to  reduce  the  value  of  his  bank  notes  one  half,  and 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  61 

of  the  India  shares  from  nine  thousand  to  five  thousand 
livres. 

This  decree  came  like  a  clap  of  thunder  upon  shareholders. 
They  found  one  half  of  the  pretended  value  of  the  paper  in 
their  hands  annihilated  in  an  instant ;  and  what  certainty  had 
they  with  respect  to  the  other  half?  The  rich  considered  them- 
selves ruined ;  those  in  humbler  circumstances  looked  forward 
to  abject  beggary. 

The  parliament  seized  the  occasion  to  stand  forth  as  the 
protector  of  the  public,  and  refused  to  register  the  decree.  It 
gained  the  credit  of  compelling  the  Regent  to  retrace  his  step, 
though  it  is  more  probable  he  yielded  to  the  universal  burst  of 
public  astonishment  and  reprobation.  On  the  27th  of  May  the 
edict  was  revoked,  and  bank-bills  were  restored  to  their  pre- 
vious value.  But  the  fatal  blow  had  been  struck ;  the  delusion 
was  at  an  end.  Government  itself  had  lost  all  public  confi- 
dence, equally  with  the  bank  it  had  engendered,  and  which  its 
own  arbitrary  acts  had  brought  into  discredit.  "All  Paris," 
says  the  Regent's  mother,  in  her  letters,  "has  been  mourning 
at  the  cursed  decree  which  Law  has  persuaded  my  son  to 
make.  I  have  received  anonymous  letters,  stating  that  I  have 
nothing  to  fear  on  my  own  account,  but  that  my  son  shall  be 
pursued  with  fire  and  sword." 

The  Regent  now  endeavored  to  avert  the  odium  of  his  ruin- 
ous schemes  from  himself.  He  affected  to  have  suddenly  lost 
confidence  in  Law,  and  on  the  29th  of  May,  discharged  him 
from  his  employ  as  Comptroller  General,  and  stationed  a  Swiss 
guard  of  sixteen  men  in  his  house.  He  even  refused  to  see 
Vn'm,  when,  on  the  following  day,  he  applied  at  the  portal  of 
the  Palais  Royal  for  admission:  but  having  played  off  this 
farce  before  the  public,  he  admitted  him  secretly  the  same 
night,  by  a  private  door,  and  continued  as  before  to  co-operate 
with  him  in  his  financial  schemes. 

On  the  first  of  June,  the  Regent  issued  a  decree,  permitting 
persons  to  have  as  much  money  as  they  pleased  in  their  pos- 
session. Few,  however,  were  in  a  state  to  benefit  by  this 
permission.  There  was  a  run  upon  the  bank,  but  a  royal 
ordinance  immediately  suspended  payment,  until  farther  or- 
ders. To  relieve  the  public  mind,  a  city  stock  was  created,  of 
twenty-five  millions,  bearing  an  interest  of  two  and  a  half  per 
cent,  for  which  bank  notes  were  taken  in  exchange.  The  bank 
notes  thus  withdrawn  from  circulation,  were  publicly  burned 
before  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  The  public,  however,  had  lost  con- 


62  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

fidence  in  everything  and  everybody,  and  suspected  fraud  and 
collusion  in  those  who  pretended  to  burn  the  bills. 

A  general  confusion  now  took  place  in  the  financial  world. 
Families  who  had  lived  in  opulence,  found  themselves  sud- 
denly reduced  to  indigence.  Schemers  who  had  been  revelling 
in  the  delusion  of  princely  fortune,  found  their  estates  vanish- 
ing into  thin  air.  Those  who  had  any  property  remaining, 
sought  to  secure  it  against  reverses.  Cautious  persons  found 
there  was  no  safety  for  property  in  a  country  where  the  coin 
was  continually  shifting  in  value,  and  where  a  despotism  was 
exercised  over  public  securities,  and  even  over  the  private 
purses  of  individuals.  They  began  to  send  their  effects  into 
other  countries;  when  lo!  on  the  20th  of  June  a  royal  edict 
commanded  them  to  bring  back  their  effects,  under  penalty  of 
forfeiting  twice  their  value ;  and  forbade  them,  under  like  pen- 
alty, from  investing  their  money  in  foreign  stocks.  This  was 
soon  followed  by  another  decree,  forbidding  any  one  to  retain 
precious  stones  in  his  possession,  or  to  sell  them  to  foreigners; 
all  must  be  deposited  in  the  bank,  in  exchange  for  depreciating 
paper ! 

Execrations  were  now  poured  out  on  all  sides,  against  Law, 
and  menaces  of  vengeance.  What  a  contrast,  in  a  short  time, 
to  the  venal  incense  that  was  offered  up  to  him!  "This  per- 
son," writes  the  Regent's  mother,  "who  was  formerly  wor- 
shipped as  a  god,  is  now  not  sure  of  his  life.  It  is  astonishing 
how  greatly  terrified  he  is.  He  is  as  a  dead  man ;  he  is  pale  as 
a  sheet,  and  it  is  said  he  can  never  get  over  it.  My  son  is 
not  dismayed,  though  he  is  threatened  on  all  sides ;  and  is  very 
much  amused  with  Law's  terrors." 

About  the  middle  of  July  the  last  grand  attempt  was  made 
by  Law  and  the  Regent,  to  keep  up  the  system,  and  provide 
for  the  immense  emission  of  paper.  A  decree  was  fabricated, 
giving  the  India  Company  the  entire  monopoly  of  commerce, 
on  condition  that  it  would,  in  the  course  of  a  year,  reimburse 
six  hundred  millions  of  livres  of  its  bills,  at  the  rate  of  fifty 
millions  per  month. 

On  the  17th  this  decree  was  sent  to  parliament  to  be  regis- 
tered. It  at  once  raised  a  storm  of  opposition  in  that  assembly ; 
and  a  vehement  discussion  took  place.  While  that  was  going 
on,  a  disastrous  scene  was  passing  out  of  doors. 

The  calamitous  effects  of  the  system  had  reached  the  hum- 
blest concerns  of  human  life.  Provisions  had  risen  to  an 
enormous  price;  paper  money  was  refused  at  all  the  shops;  the 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  63 

people  had  not  wherewithal  to  buy  bread.  It  had  been  found 
absolutely  indispensable  to  relax  a  little  from  the  suspension  of 
specie  payments,  and  to  allow  small  sums  to  be  scantily  ex- 
changed for  paper.  The  doors  of  the  bank  and  the  neighboring 
streets  were  immediately  thronged  with  a  famishing  multitude, 
seeking  cash  for  bank-notes  of  ten  livres.  So  great  was  the 
press  and  struggle  that  several  persons  were  stifled  and 
crushed  to  death.  The  mob  carried  three  of  the  bodies  to  the 
court-yard  of  the  Palais  Royal.  Some  cried  for  the  Regent  to 
come  forth  and  behold  the  effect  of  his  system;  others  de- 
manded the  death  of  Law,  the  impostor,  who  had  brought  this 
misery  and  ruin  upon  the  nation. 

The  moment  was  critical,  the  popular  fury  was  rising  to  a 
tempest,  when  Le  Blanc,  the  Secretary  of  State,  stepped  forth. 
He  had  previously  sent  for  the  military,  and  now  only  sought 
to  gain  time.  Singling  out  six  or  seven  stout  fellows,  who 
seemed  to  be  the  ringleaders  of  the  mob:  "  My  good  fellows," 
said  he,  calmly,  ' '  carry  away  these  bodies  and  place  them  in 
some  church,  and  then  come  back  quickly  to  me  for  your  pay." 
They  immediately  obeyed;  a  kind  of  funeral  procession  was 
formed;  the  arrival  of  troops  dispersed  those  who  lingered 
behind ;  and  Paris  was  probably  saved  from  an  insurrection. 

About  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  all  being  quiet,  Law  ven- 
tured to  go  in  his  carriage  to  the  Palais  Royal.  He  was 
saluted  with  cries  and  curses,  as  he  passed  along  the  streets ; 
and  he  reached  the  Palais  Royal  in  a  terrible  fright.  The 
Regent  amused  himself  with  his  fears,  but  retained  him  with 
him.  and  sent  off  his  carriage,  which  was  assailed  by  the  mob, 
pelted  with  stones,  and  the  glasses  shivered.  The  news  of  this 
outrage  was  communicated  to  parliament  in  the  midst  of  a 
furious  discussion  of  the  decree  for  the  commercial  monopoly. 
The  first  president,  who  had  been  absent  for  a  short  time,  re- 
entered,  and  communicated  the  tidings  in  a  whimsical  couplet : 

"Messieurs.  Messieurs',  bonne  nouvelle! 
Le  carrosse  de  Law  est  reduite  en  carrelle  I" 

" Gentlemen.  Gentlemen!  Brood  news! 
The  carriage  of  Law  is  shivered  to  atoms!" 

The  members  sprang  up  with  joy;  "And  Law!"  exclaimed 
they,  "has  he  been  torn  to  pieces?"  The  president  was  igno- 
rant of  the  result  of  the  tumult ;  whereupon  the  debate  was 
cut  short,  the  decree  reip^tod.  and  the  house  adjourned;  the 
members  hurrying  to  learn  the  particulars.  Such  was  the 


64  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

levity  with  which  public  affairs  were  treated  at  that  dissolute 
and  disastrous  period. 

On  the  following  day  there  was  an  ordinance  from  the  king, 
prohibiting  all  popular  assemblages ;  and  troops  were  stationed 
at  various  points,  and  in  all  public  places.  The  regiment  of 
guards  was  ordered  to  hold  itself  in  readiness ;  and  the  musque- 
teers  to  be  at  their  hotels,  with  their  horses  ready  saddled.  A 
number  of  small  offices  were  opened,  where  people  might  cash 
small  notes,  though  with  great  delay  and  difficulty.  An  edict 
was  also  issued  declaring  that  whoever  should  refuse  to  take 
bank-notes  in  the  course  of  trade  should  forfeit  double  the 
amount! 

The  continued  and  vehement  opposition  of  parliament  to  the 
whole  delusive  system  of  finance,  had  been  a  constant  source 
of  annoyance  to  the  Eegent ;  but  this  obstinate  rejection  of  his 
last  grand  expedient  of  a  commercial  monopoly,  was  not  to  be 
tolerated.  He  determined  to  punish  that  intractable  body. 
The  Abbe  Dubois  and  Law  suggested  a  simple  mode ;  it  was  to 
suppress  the  parliament  altogether,  being,  as  they  observed,  so 
far  from  useful,  that  it  was  a  constant  impediment  to  the 
march  of  public  affairs.  The  Regent  was  hah0  inclined  to  listen 
to  their  advice;  but  upon  calmer  consideration,  and  the  advice 
of  friends,  he  adopted  a  more  moderate  course.  On  the  20th 
of  July,  early  in  the  morning,  all  the  doors  of  the  parliament- 
house  were  taken  possession  of  by  troops.  Others  were  sent  to 
surround  the  house  of  the  first  president,  and  others  to  the 
houses  of  the  various  members ;  who  were  all  at  first  in  great 
alarm,  until  an  order  from  the  king  was  put  into  their  hands, 
to  render  themselves  at  Pontoise,  in  the  course  of  two  days,  to 
which  place  the  parliament  was  thus  suddenly  and  arbitrarily 
transferred. 

This  despotic  act,  says  Voltaire,  would  at  any  other  time 
have  caused  an  insurrection;  but  one  half  of  the  Parisians 
were  occupied  by  their  ruin,  and  the  other  half  by  their  fancied 
riches,  which  were  soon  to  vanish.  The  president  and  mem- 
bers of  parliament  acquiesced  in  the  mandate  without  a  mur- 
mur ;  they  even  went  as  if  on  a  party  of  pleasure,  and  made 
every  preparation  to  lead  a  joyous  life  in  their  exile.  The 
musqueteers,  who  held  possession  of  the  vacated  parliament- 
house,  a  gay  corps  of  fashionable  young  fellows,  amused  them- 
selves with  making  songs  and  pasquinades,  at  the  expense  of 
the  exiled  legislators;  and  at  length,  to  pass  away  time,  formed 
themselves  into  a  mock  parliament;  elected  their  presidents, 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  65 

kings,  ministers,  and  advocates ;  took  their  seats  in  due  form, 
arraigned  a  cat  at  their  bar,  in  place  of  the  Sieur  Law,  and  after 
giving  it  a  "fair  trial,"  condemned  it  to  be  hanged.  In  this 
manner  public  affairs  and  public  institutions  were  lightly 
turned  to  jest. 

As  to  the  exiled  parliament,  it  lived  gayly  and  luxuriously  at 
Pontoise,  at  the  public  expense ;  for  the  Regent  had  furnished 
funds,  as  usual,  with  a  lavish  hand.  The  first  president  had 
the  mansion  of  the  Duke  de  Bouillon  put  at  his  disposal,  ready 
furnished,  with  a  vast  and  delightful  garden  on  the  borders  of 
a  river.  There  he  kept  open  house  to  ah1  the  members  of  par- 
liament. Several  tables  were  spread  every  day,  all  furnished 
luxuriously  and  splendidly;  the  most  exquisite  wines  and 
liqueurs,  the  choicest  fruits  and  refreshments,  of  ah1  kinds, 
abounded.  A  number  of  small  chariots  for  one  and  two  horses 
were  always  at  hand,  for  such  ladies  and  old  gentlemen  as 
wished  to  take  an  airing  after  dinner,  and  card  and  billiard 
tables  for  such  as  chose  to  amuse  themselves  in  that  way  until 
supper.  The  sister  and  the  daughter  of  the  first  president  did 
the  honors  of  the  house,  and  he  himself  presided  there  with  an 
air  of  great  ease,  hospitality,  and  magnificence.  It  became  a 
party  of  pleasure  to  drive  from  Paris  to  Pontoise,  which  was 
six  leagues  distant,  and  partake  of  the  amusements  and  festivi- 
ties of  the  place.  Business  was  openly  slighted ;  nothing  was 
thought  of  but  amusement.  The  Regent  and  his  government 
were  laughed  at,  and  made  the  subjects  of  continual  pleasant- 
ries ;  while  the  enormous  expenses  incurred  by  this  idle  and 
lavish  course  of  life,  more  than  doubled  the  liberal  sums  pro- 
vided. This  was  the  way  in  which  the  parliament  resented 
their  exile. 

During  all  this  time,  the  system  was  getting  more  and  more 
involved.  The  stock  exchange  had  some  time  previously  been 
removed  to  the  Place  Vendome ;  but  the  tumult  and  noise  be- 
coming intolerable  to  the  residents  of  that  polite  quarter,  and 
especially  to  the  chancellor,  whose  hotel  was  there,  the  Prince 
and  Princess  Carignan,  both  deep  gamblers  in  Mississippi 
stock,  offered  the  extensive  garden  of  the  Hotel  de  Soissons 
as  a  rallying-place  for  the  worshippers  of  Mammon.  The  offer 
was  accepted.  A  number  of  barracks  were  immediately 
erected  in  the  garden,  as  offices  for  the  stock-brokers,  and  an 
order  was  obtained  from  the  Regent,  under  pretext  of  police 
regulations,  that  no  bargain  should  be  valid  unless  concluded 
in  these  barracks.  The  rent  of  them  immediately  mounted  to 


66  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

a  hundred  livres  a  month  for  each,  and  the  whole  yielded  these 
noble  proprietors  an  ignoble  revenue  of  half  a  million  of  li vres. 

The  mania  for  gain,  however,  was  now  at  an  end.  A  uni- 
versal panic  succeeded.  "  Sauve  qui  pent!"  was  the  watch- 
word. Every  one  was  anxious  to  exchange  falling  paper  for 
something  of  intrinsic  and  permanent  value.  Since  money 
was  not  to  be  had,  jewels,  precious  stones,  plate,  porcelain, 
trinkets  of  gold  and  silver,  all  commanded  any  price  in  paper. 
Land  was  bought  at  fifty  years'  purchase,  and  he  esteemed 
himself  happy  who  could  get  it  even  at  this  price.  Monopolies 
now  became  the  rage  among  the  noble  holders  of  paper.  The 
Duke  de  la  Force  bought  up  nearly  all  the  tallow,  grease,  and 
soap;  others  the  coffee  and  spices;  others  hay  and  oats.  For- 
eign exchanges  were  almost  impracticable.  The  debts  of 
Dutch  and  English  merchants  were  paid  in  this  fictitious 
money,  all  the  coin  of  the  realm  having  disappeared.  All  the 
relations  of  debtor  and  creditor  were  confounded.  With  one 
thousand  crowns  one  might  pay  a  debt  of  eighteen  thousand 
livres! 

The  Regent's  mother,  who  once  exulted  in  the  affluence  of 
bank  paper,  now  wrote  in  a  very  different  tone:  "I  have 
often  wished,"  said  she  in  her  letters,  "that  these  bank 
notes  were  in  the  depts  of  the  infernal  regions.  They  have 
given  my  son  more  trouble  than  relief.  Nobody  in  France 
has  a  penny.  *  *  *  My  son  was  once  popular,  but  since  the  ar- 
rival of  this  cursed  Law,  he  is  hated  more  and  more.  Not  a 
week  passes,  without  my  receiving  letters  filled  with  fright- 
ful threats,  and  speaking  of  him  as  a  tyrant.  I  have  just 
received  one  threatening  him  with  poison.  When  I  showed 
it  to  him,  he  did  nothing  but  laugh. " 

In  the  meantime,  Law  was  dismayed  by  the  increasing 
troubles,  and  terrified  at  the  tempest  he  had  raised.  He  was 
not  a  man  of  real  courage;  and  fearing  for  his  personal 
safety,  from  popular  tumult,  or  the  despair  of  ruined  indi- 
viduals, he  again  took  refuge  in  the  palace  of  the  Regent. 
The  latter,  as  usual,  amused  himself  with  his  terrors,  and 
turned  every  new  disaster  into  a  jest;  but  he  too  began  to 
think  of  his  own  security. 

In  pursuing  the  schemes  of  Law,  he  had  no  doubt  cal- 
culated to  carry  through  his  term  of  government  with  ease 
and  splendor;  and  to  enrich  himself,  his  connexions,  and  his 
favorites;  and  had  hoped  that  the  catastrophe  of  the  system 
would  not  take  place  until  after  the  expiration  of  the  regency. 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  67 

He  now  saw  his  mistake;  that  it  was  impossible  much 
longer  to  prevent  an  explosion;  and  he  determined  at  once 
to  get  Law  out  of  the  way,  and  than  to  charge  him  with 
the  whole  tissue  of  delusions  of  this  paper  alchemy.  He  ac- 
cordingly took  occasion  of  the  recall  of  parliament  in  De- 
cember, 1720,  to  suggest  to  Law  the  policy  of  his  avoiding 
an  encounter  with  that  hostile  and  exasperated  body.  Law 
needed  no  urging  to  the  measure.  His  only  desire  was  to 
escape  from  Paris  and  its  tempestuous  populace.  Two  days  be- 
fore the  return  of  parliament  he  took  his  sudden  and  secret 
departure.  He  travelled  in  a  chaise  bearing  the  arms  of  the 
Regent,  and  was  escorted  by  a  kind  of  safeguard  of  servants, 
in  the  duke's  livery.  His  first  place  of  refuge  was  an  estate 
of  the  Regent's,  about  six  leagues  from  Paris,  from  whence  he 
pushed  forward  to  Bruxelles. 

As  soon  as  Law  was  fairly  out  of  the  way,  the  Duke  of 
Orleans  summoned  a  council  of  the  regency,  and  informed 
them  that  they  were  assembled  to  deliberate  on  the  state  of 
the  finances,  and  the  affairs  of  the  India  Company.  Accord- 
ingly La  Houssaye,  Comptroller  General,  rendered  a  perfectly 
clear  statement,  by  which  it  appeared  that  there  were  bank 
bills  in  circulation  to  the  amount  of  two  milliards,  seven 
hundred  millions  of  livres,  without  any  evidence  that  this 
enormous  sum  had  been  emitted  in  virtue  of  any  ordinance 
from  the  general  assembly  of  the  India  Company,  which  alone 
had  the  right  to  authorize  such  emissions. 

The  council  was  astonished  at  this  disclosure,  and  looked 
to  the  Regent  for  explanation.  Pushed  to  the  extreme,  the 
Regent  avowed  that  Law  had  emitted  bills  to  the  amount  of 
twelve  hundred  millions  beyond  what  had  been  fixed  by  or- 
dinances, and  in  contradiction  to  express  prohibitions;  that 
Ithe  thing  being  done,  he,  the  Regent,  had  legalized  or  rather 
covered  the  transaction,  by  decrees  ordering  such  emissions, 
which  decrees  he  had  antedated. 

A  stormy  scene  ensued  between  the  Regent  and  the  Duke 
de  Bourbon,  little  to  the  credit  of  either,  both  having  been 
deeply  implicated  in  the  cabalistic  operations  of  the  system. 
In  fact,  the  several  members  of  the  council  had  been  among 
the  most  venal  "beneficiaries"  of  the  scheme,  and  had  inter- 
ests at  stake  which  they  were  anxious  to  secure.  From  all 
the  circumstances  of  the  case,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
others  were  more  to  blame  than  Law,  for  the  disastrous  effects 
of  his  financial  projects.  His  bank,  had  it  been  confined  to 


68  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

its  original  limits,  and  left  to  the  control  of  its  own  inter* 
nal  regulations,  might  have  gone  on  prosperously,  and  been 
of  great  benefit  to  the  nation.  It  was  an  institution  fitted 
for  a  free  country;  but  unfortunately  it  was  subjected  to 
the  control  of  a  despotic  government,  that  could,  at  its  pleas- 
ure, alter  the  value  of  the  specie  within  its  vaults,  and  com- 
pel the  most  extravagant  expansions  of  its  paper  circulation. 
The  vital  principle  of  a  bank  is  security  in  the  regularity  of 
its  operations,  and  the  immediate  convertibility  of  its  paper 
into  coin;  and  what  confidence  could  be  reposed  in  an  insti- 
tution or  its  paper  promises,  when  the  sovereign  could  at 
any  moment  centuple  those  promises  in  the  market,  and  seize 
upon  all  the  money  in  the  bank?  The  compulsory  measures 
used,  likewise,  to  force  bank  notes  into  currency,  against  the 
judgment  of  the  public,  was  fatal  to  the  system;  for  credit 
must  be  free  and  uncontrolled  as  the  common  air.  The  Be- 
gent  was  the  evil  spirit  of  the  system,  that  forced  Law  on  to 
an  expansion  of  his  paper  curency  far  beyond  what  he  had 
ever  dreamed  of.  He  it  was  that  in  a  manner  compelled  the 
unlucky  projector  to  devise  all  kinds  of  collateral  companies 
and  monopolies,  by  which  to  raise  funds  to  meet  the  con- 
stantly and  enormously  increasing  emissions  of  shares  and 
notes.  Law  was  but  like  a  poor  conjuror  in  the  hands  of  a 
potent  spirit  that  he  has  evoked,  and  that  obliges  him  to  go 
on,  desperately  and  ruinously,  with  his  conjurations.  He  only 
thought  at  the  outset  to  raise  the  wind,  but  the  Regent  com- 
pelled him  to  raise  the  whirlwind. 

The  investigation  of  the  affairs  of  the  Company  by  the 
council,  resulted  in  nothing  beneficial  to  the  public.  The 
princes  and  nobles  who  had  enriched  themselves  by  all  kinda 
of  juggles  and  extortions,  escaped  unpunished,  and  retained 
the  greater  part  of  their  spoils.  Many  of  the  "suddenly 
rich,"  who  had  risen  from  obscurity  to  a  giddy  height  of 
imaginary  prosperity,  and  had  indulged  in  all  kinds  of  vul- 
gar and  ridiculous  excesses,  awoke  as  out  of  a  dream,  in  their 
original  poverty,  now  made  more  galling  and  humiliating  by 
their  transient  elevation. 

The  weight  of  the  evil,  however,  fell  on  more  valuable  classes 
of  society;  honest  tradesmen  and  artisans,  who  had  been 
seduced  away  from  the  safe  pursuits  of  industry,  to  the 
specious  chances  of  speculation.  Thousands  of  meritorious 
families  also,  once  opulent,  had  been  reduced  to  indigence, 
by  a  too  great  confidence  in  government.  There  was  a  gen- 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  69 

era!  derangement  in  the  finances,  that  long  exerted  a  bane- 
ful influence  over  the  national  prosperity;  but  the  most  dis- 
astrous effects  of  the  system  were  upon  the  morals  and  man- 
ners of  the  nation.  The  faith  of  engagements,  the  sanctity 
of  promises  in  affairs  of  business,  were  at  an  end.  Every 
expedient  to  grasp  present  profit,  or  to  evade  present  difficulty, 
was  tolerated.  While  such  deplorable  laxity  of  principle  was 
generated  in  the  busy  classes,  the  chivalry  of  France  had 
soiled  their  pennons ;  and  honor  and  glory,  so  long  the  idols  of 
the  Gallic  nobility,  had  been  tumbled  to  the  earth,  and  tram- 
pled in  the  dirt  of  the  stock-market. 

As  to  Law,  the  originator  of  the  system,  he  appears  even- 
tually to  have  profited  but  little  by  his  schemes.  "He  was  a 
quack,"  says  Voltaire,  ''to  whom  the  state  was  given  to  be 
cured,  but  who  poisoned  it  with  his  drugs,  and  who  poisoned 
himself."  The  effects  which  he  left  behind  in  France,  were 
sold  at  a  low  price,  and  the  proceeds  dissipated.  His  landed 
estates  were  confiscated.  He  carried  away  with  him  barely 
enough  to  maintain  himself,  his  wife,  and  daughter,  with  de- 
cency. The  chief  relique  of  his  immense  fortune  was  a  great 
diamond,  which  he  was  often  obliged  to  pawn.  He  was  in 
England  in  1721,  and  was  presented  to  George  the  First.  He 
returned  shortly  afterwards  to  the  continent;  shifting  about 
from  place  to  place,  and  died  in  Venice,  in  1729.  His  wife  and 
daughter,  accustomed  to  live  with  the  prodigality  of  princesses, 
could  not  conform  to  their  altered  fortunes,  but  dissipated  the 
scanty  means  left  to  them,  and  sank  into  abject  poverty.  "I 
saw  his  wife,"  says  Voltaire,  "at  Bruxelles,  as  much  humili- 
ated as  she  had  been  haughty  and  triumphant  in  Paris."  An 
elder  brother  of  Law  remained  in  France,  and  was  protected 
by  the  Duchess  of  Bourbon.  His  descendants  have  acquitted 
themselves  honorably,  in  various  public  employments;  and 
one  of  them  is  the  Marquis  Lauribton,  some  time  Lieutenant 
Greueral  and  Peer  of  France. 


70  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

DON  JUAN. 

A  SPECTRAL  RESEARCH. 

*'  I  h»ve  heard  of  spirits  walking  with  aerial  bodies,  and  have  been  wondered  at 
by  others;  but  I  must  only  wonder  at  myself,  for  if  they  be  not  mad,  I'me  come  to 
my  own  buriall."— SHIRLEY'S  "  WITTY  FAIRIK  ONE." 

EVERYBODY  has  heard  of  the  fate  of  Don  Juan,  the  famous 
libertine  of  Seville,  who  for  his  sins  against  the  fair  sex  and 
other  minor  peccadilloes  was  hurried  away  to  the  infernal 
regions.  His  story  has  been  illustrated  in  play,  in  pantomime, 
and  farce,  on  every  stage  in  Christendom ;  until  at  length  it  has 
been  rendered  the  theme  of  the  opera  of  operas,  and  embalmed 
to  endless  duration  in  the  glorious  music  of  Mozart.  I  well 
recollect  the  effect  of  this  story  upon  my  feelings  in  my  boyish 
days,  though  represented  in  grotesque  pantomime;  the  awe 
with  which  I  contemplated  the  monumental  statue  on  horse- 
back of  the  murdered  commander,  gleaming  by  pale  moonlight 
in  the  convent  cemetery ;  how  my  heart  quaked  as  he  bowed 
his  marble  head,  and  accepted  the  impious  invitation  of  Don 
Juan:  how  each  foot-fall  of  the  statue  smote  upon  my  heart, 
as  I  heard  it  approach,  step  by  step,  through  the  echoing  cor- 
ridor, and  beheld  it  enter,  and  advance,  a  moving  figure  of 
stone,  to  the  supportable !  But  then  the  convivial  scene  in 
the  charnel-house,  where  Don  Juan  returned  the  visit  of  the 
statue;  was  offered  a  banquet  of  skuDs  and  bones,  and  on 
refusing  to  partake,  was  hurled  into  a  yawning  gulf,  under  a 
tremendous  shower  of  fire !  These  were  accumulated  horrors 
enough  to  shake  the  nerves  of  the  most  pantomime-loving 
school-boy.  Many  have  supposed  the  story  of  Don  Juan  a 
mere  fable.  I  myfeelf  thought  so  once;  but  "  seeing  is  believ- 
ing." I  have  since  beheld  the  very  scene  where  it  took  place, 
and  now  to  indulge  any  doubt  on  the  subject  would  be  pre- 
posterous. 

I  was  one  night  perambulating  the  streets  of  Seville,  in  com- 
pany with  a  Spanish  friend,  a  curious  investigator  of  the  popu- 
lar traditions  and  other  good-for-nothing  lore  of  the  city,  and 
who  was  kind  enough  to  imagine  he  had  met,  in  me,  with  a 
congenial  spirit.  In  the  course  of  our  rambles  we  were  passing 
by  a  heavy,  dark  gateway,  opening  into  the  court-yard  of  a 
convent,  when  he  laid  his  hand  upon  my  arm:  "Stop!"  said 
he,  "  this  is  the  convent  of  Saa  Francisco ;  there  is  a  story  con- 


DON  JUAN.  71 

nected  with  it,  which  I  am  sure  must  be  known  to  you.  You 
cannot  but  have  heard  of  Don  Juan  and  the  marble  statue. " 

"  Undoubtedly,"  replied  I,  "it  has  been  familiar -to  me  from 
childhood." 

"  Well,  then,  it  was  in  the  cemetery  of  this  very  convent 
that  the  events  took  place." 

"Why,  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  story  is  founded  on 
fact?" 

"Undoubtedly  it  is.  The  circumstances  of  the  case  are  said 
to  have  occurred  during  the  reign  of  Alfonso  XI.  Don  Juan 
was  of  the  noble  family  of  Tenorio,  one  of  the  most  illustrious 
houses  of  Andalusia.  His  father,  Don  Diego  Tenorio,  was  a 
favorite  of  the  king,  and  his  family  ranked  among  the  deinte- 
cuatros,  or  magistrates,  of  the  city.  Presuming  on  his  high  de- 
scent and  powerful  connections,  Don  Juan  set  no  bounds  to  his 
excesses :  no  female,  high  or  low,  was  sacred  from  his  pursuit : 
and  he  soon  became  the  scandal  of  Seville.  One  of  his  most 
daring  outrages  was,  to  penetrate  by  night  into  the  palace  of 
Don  Gonzalo  de  Ulloa,  commander  of  the  order«of  Calatrava, 
and  attempt  to  carry  off  his  daughter.  The  household  was 
alarmed ;  a  scuffle  in  the  dark  took  place ;  Don  Juan  escaped, 
but  the  unfortunate  commander  was  found  weltering  in  his 
blood,  and  expired  without  being  able  to  name  his  murderer. 
Suspicions  attached  to  Don  Juan;  he  did  not  stop  to  meet  the 
investigations  of  justice,  and  the  vengeance  of  the  powerful 
family  of  Ulloa,  but  fled  from  Seville,  and  took  refuge  with  his 
uncle,  Don  Pedro  Tenorio,  at  that  time  ambassador  at  the  court 
of  Naples.  Here  he  remained  until  the  agitation  occasioned  by 
the  murder  of  Don  Gonzalo  had  time  to  subside ;  and  the  scan- 
dal which  the  affair  might  cause  to  both  the  families  of  Ulloa 
and  Tenorio  had  induced  them  to  hush  it  up.  Don  Juan,  how- 
ever, continued  his  libertine  career  at  Naples,  until  at  length 
his  excesses  forfeited  the  protection  of  his  uncle,  the  ambassa- 
dor, and  obliged  him  again  to  flee.  He  had  made  his  way  back 
to  Seville,  trusting  that  his  past  misdeeds  were  forgotten,  or 
rather  trusting  to  his  dare-devil  spirit  and  the  power  of  his 
family,  to  carry  him  through  all  difficulties. 

"  It  was  shortly  after  his  return,  and  while  in  the  height  of 
his  arrogance,  that  on  visiting  this  very  convent  of  Francisco, 
he  beheld  on  a  monument  the  equestrian  statue  of  the  mur- 
dered commander,  who  had  been  buried  within  the  walls  of 
this  sacred  edifice,  where  the  family  of  Ulloa  had  a  chapel.  It 
was  on  this  occasion  that  Don  Juan,  in  a  moment  of  impious 


72  THE  CRA  TON  PAPERS. 

levity,  invited  the  statue  to  the  banquet,  the  awful  catastrophe 
of  which  has  given  such  celebrity  to  his  story." 

"  And  pray  how  much  of  this  story,"  said  I,  "is  believed  in 
Seville?" 

"  The  whole  of  it  by  the  populace;  with  whom  it  has  been  a 
favorite  tradition  since  time  immemorial,  and  who  crowd  to 
the  theatres  to  see  it  represented  in  dramas  written  long  since 
by  Tyrso  de  Molina,  and  another  of  our  popular  writers.  Many 
in  our  higher  ranks  also,  accustomed  from  childhood  to  this 
story,  would  feel  somewhat  indignant  at  hearing  it  treated  with 
contempt.  An  attempt  has  been  made  to  explain  the  whole; 
by  asserting  that,  to  put  an  end  to  the  extravagancies  of  Don 
Juan,  and  to  pacify  the  family  of  Ulloa,  without  exposing  the 
delinquent  to  the  degrading  penalties  of  justice,  he  was  decoyed 
into  this  convent  under  a  false  pretext,  and  either  plunged  into 
a  perpetual  dungeon,  or  privately  hurried  out  of  existence; 
while  the  story  of  the  statue  was  circulated  by  the  monks,  to 
account  for  his  sudden  disappearance.  The  populace,  how- 
ever, are  not  to  be  cajoled  out  of  a  ghost  story  by  any  of 
these  plausible  explanations;  and  the  marble  statue  still 
strides  the  stage,  and  Don  Juan  is  still  plunged  into  the  in- 
fernal regions,  as  an  awful  warning  to  all  rake-helly  young- 
sters, in  like  case  offending." 

While  my  companion  was  relating  these  anecdotes,  we  had 
entered  the  gate-way,  traversed  the  exterior  court-yard  of  the 
convent,  and  made  our  way  into  a  great  interior  court ;  partly 
surrounded  by  cloisters  and  dormitories,  partly  by  chapels, 
and  having  a  large  fountain  in  the  centre.  The  pile  had  evi- 
dently once  been  extensive  and  magnificent;  but  it  was  for  the 
greater  part  in  ruins.  By  the  light  of  the  stars,  and  of  twink- 
ling lamps  placed  here  and  there  in  the  chapels  and  corridors, 
I  could  see  that  many  of  the  columns  and  arches  were  broken ; 
the  walls  were  rent  and  riven;  while  burned  beams  and  rafters 
showed  the  destructive  effects  of  fire.  The  whole  place  had  a 
desolate  air ;  the  night  breeze  rustled  through  grass  and  weeds 
flaunting  out  of  the  crevices  of  the  walls,  or  from  the  shat- 
tered columns ;  the  bat  flitted  about  the  vaulted  passages,  and 
the  owl  hooted  from  the  ruined  belfry.  Never  was  any  scene 
more  completely  fitted  for  a  ghost  story. 

While  I  was  indulging  in  picturings  of  the  fancy,  proper  to 
such  a  place,  the  deep  chaunt  of  the  monks  from  the  convent 
church  came  swelling  upon  the  ear.  "  It  is  the  vesper  service,  * 
said  my  companion:  "follow  me." 


DON  JUAN.  73 

Leading  the  way  across  the  court  of  the  cloisters,  and 
through  one  or  two  ruined  passages,  he  reached  the  distant 
portal  of  the  church,  and  pushing  open  a  wicket,  cut  in  the 
folding-doors,  we  found  ourselves  in  the  deep  arched  vestibule 
of  the  sacred  edifice.  To  our  left  was  the  choir,  forming  one 
end  of  the  church,  and  having  a  low  vaulted  ceiling,  which 
gave  it  the  look  of  a  cavern.  About  this  were  ranged  the 
monks,  seated  on  stools,  and  chaunting  from  immense  books 
placed  on  music-stands,  and  having  the  notes  scored  in  such 
gigantic  characters  as  to  be  legible  from  every  part  of  the  choir. 
A  few  lights  on  these  music-stands  dimly  illumined  the  choir, 
gleamed  on  the  shaven  heads  of  the  monks,  and  threw  their 
shadows  on  the  walls.  They  were  gross,  blue-bearded,  bullet- 
headed  men,  with  bass  voices,  of  deep  metallic  tone,  that  re- 
verberated out  of  the  cavernous  choir. 

To  our  right  extended  the  great  body  of  the  church.  It  was 
spacious  and  lofty ;  some  of  the  side  chapels  had  gilded  grates, 
and  were  decorated  with  images  and  paintings,  representing 
the  sufferings  of  our  Saviour.  Aloft  was  a  great  painting  by 
Murillo,  but  too  much  in  the  dark  to  be  distinguished.  The 
gloom  of  the  whole  church  was  but  faintly  relieved  by  the  re- 
flected light  from  the  choir,  and  the  glimmering  here  and  there 
of  a  votive  lamp  before  the  shrine  of  a  saint. 

As  my  eye  roamed  about  the  shadowy  pile,  it  was  struck 
with  the  dimly  seen  figure  of  a  man  on  horseback,  near  a  dis- 
tant altar.  I  touched  my  companion,  and  pointed  to  it:  "  The 
spectre  statue !"  said  I. 

"No,"  replied  he;  "it  is  the  statue  of  the  blessed  St.  lago; 
the  statue  of  the  commander  was  in  the  cemetery  of  the  con- 
vent, and  was  destroyed  at  the  time  of  the  conflagration. 
But,"  added  he,  "  as  I  see  you  take  a  proper  interest  in  these 
kind  of  stories,  come  with  me  to  the  other  end  of  the  church, 
where  our  whisperings  will  not  disturb  these  holy  fathers  at 
their  devotions,  and  I  will  tell  you  another  story,  that  has  been, 
current  for  some  generations  in  our  city,  by  which  you  will 
find  that  Don  Juan  is  not  the  only  libertine  that  has  been  the 
object  of  supernatural  castigation  in  Seville." 

I  accordingly  followed  him  with  noiseless  tread  to  the  farther 
part  of  the  church,  where  we  took  our  seats  on  the  steps  of  an 
altar,  opposite  to  the  suspicious-looking  figure  on  horseback, 
and  there,  in  a  low,  mysterious  voice,  he  related  to  me  the  fol- 
lowing narrative : 

"  There  was  once  hi  Seville  a  gay  young  fellow,  Don  Manuel 


74  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

de  Manara  by  name,  who  having  come  to  a  great  estate  by  the 
death  of  his  father,  gave  the  reins  to  his  passions,  and  plunged 
into  all  kinds  of  dissipation.  Like  Don  Juan,  whom  he  seemed 
to  have  taken  for  a  model,  he  became  famous  for  his  enter- 
prises among  the  fair  sex,  and  was  the  cause  of  doors  being 
barred  and  windows  grated  with  more  than  usual  strictness. 
All  in  vain.  No  balcony  was  too  high  for  him  to  scale ;  no  bolt 
nor  bar  was  proof  against  his  efforts ;  and  his  very  name  was  a 
word  of  terror  to  all  the  jealous  husbands  and  cautious  fathers 
of  Seville.  His  exploits  extended  to  country  as  well  as  city ; 
and  in  the  village  dependent  on  his  castle,  scarce  a  rural  beauty 
was  safe  from  his  arts  and  enterprises. 

"  As  he  was  one  day  ranging  the  streets  of  Seville,  with  sev 
eral  of  his  dissolute  companions,  he  beheld  a  procession  about 
to  enter  the  gate  of  a  convent.  In  the  centre  was  a  young  fe- 
male arrayed  in  the  dress  of  a  bride ;  it  was  a  novice,  who,  hav- 
ing accomplished  her  year  of  probation,  was  about  to  take  the 
black  veil,  and  consecrate  herself  to  heaven.  The  companions 
of  Don  Manuel  drew  back,  out  of  respect  to  the  sacred  pageant ; 
but  he  pressed  forward,  with  his  usual  impetuosity,  to  gain  a 
near  view  of  the  novice.  He  almost  jostled  her,  in  passing 
through  the  portal  of  the  church,  when,  on  her  turning  round, 
he  beheld  the  countenance  of  a  beautiful  village  girl,  who  had 
been  the  object  of  his  ardent  pursuit,  but  who  had  been  spirited 
secretly  out  of  his  reach  by  her  relatives.  She  recognized  him 
at  the  same  moment,  and  fainted ;  but  was  borne  within  the 
grate  of  the  chapel.  It  was  supposed  the  agitation  of  the  cere- 
mony and  the  heat  of  the  throng  had  overcome  her.  After 
some  time,  the  curtain  which  hung  within  the  grate  was  drawn 
up:  there  stood  the' novice,  pale  and  trembling,  surrounded  by 
the  abbess  and  the  nuns.  The  ceremony  proceeded ;  the  crown 
of  flowers  was  taken  from  her  head ;  she  was  shorn  of  her  silken 
tresses,  received  the  black  veil,  and  went  passively  through 
the  remainder  of  the  ceremony. 

"Don  Manuel  de  Manara,  on  the  contrary,  was  roused  to 
fury  at  the  sight  of  this  sacrifice.  His  passion,  whicn 
had  almost  faded  away  in  the  absence  of  the  object,  now 
glowed  with  tenfold  ardor,  being  inflamed  by  the  difficulties 
placed  in  his  way,  and  piqued  by  the  measures  which  had  been 
taken  to  defeat  him.  Never  had  the  object  of  his  pursuit  ap- 
peared so  lovely  and  desirable  as  when  within  the  grate  of  the 
convent,-  and  he  swore  to  have  her,  in  defiance  of  heaven  and 
earth.  By  dint  of  bribing  a  female  servant  of  the  convent  he 


DON  JUAN.  75 

contrived  to  convey  letters  to  her,  pleading  his  passion  in  the 
most  eloquent  and  seductive  terms.  How  successful  they  were 
is  only  matter  of  conjecture ;  certain  it  is,  he  undertook  one 
night  to  scale  the  garden  wall  of  the  convent,  either  to  carry 
off  the  nun,  or  gain  admission  to  her  cell.  Just  as  he  was 
mounting  the  wall  he  was  suddenly  plucked  back,  and  a 
stranger,  muffled  in  a  cloak,  stood  before  him. 

"  '  Rash  man,  forbear! '  cried  he:  'is  it  not  enough  to  have 
violated  all  human  ties?  Wouldst  thou  steal  a  bride  from 
heaven ! ' 

"  The  sword  of  Don  Manuel  had  been  drawn  on  the  instant, 
and  furious  at  this  interruption,  he  passed  it  through  the  body 
of  the  stranger,  who  fell  dead  at  his  feet.  Hearing  approach- 
ing footsteps,  he  fled  the  fatal  spot,  and  mounting  his  horse, 
which  was  at  hand,  retreated  to  his  estate  in  the  country,  at  no 
great  distance  from  Seville.  Here  he  remained  throughout  the 
next  day,  full  of  horror  and  remorse ;  dreading  lest  he  should 
be  known  as  the  murderer  of  the  deceased,  and  fearing  each 
moment  the  arrival  of  the  officers  of  justice. 

"  The  day  passed,  however,  without  molestation;  and,  as  the 
evening  approached,  unable  any  longer  to  endure  this  state  of 
uncertainty  and  apprehension,  he  ventured  back  to  Seville. 
Irresistibly  his  footsteps  took  the  direction  of  the  convent ;  but 
he  paused  and  hovered  at  a  distance  from  the  scene  of  blood. 
Several  persons  were  gathered  round  the  place,  one  of  whom 
was  busy  nailing  something  against  the  convent  wall.  After  a 
while  they  dispersed,  and  one  passed  near  to  Don  Manuel.  The 
latter  addressed  him,  with  hesitating  voice. 

"  '  Seiior,'  said  he,  '  may  I  ask  the  reason  of  yonder  throng? ' 

"'A  cavalier,'  replied  the  other,  '  has  been  murdered.' 

"  '  Murdered ! '  echoed  Don  Manuel ;  '  and  can  you  tell  me  his 
name? ' 

"  '  Don  Manuel  de  Manara,'  replied  the  stranger,  and  passed 
on. 

"Don  Manuel  was  startled  at  this  mention  of  his  own  name; 
especially  when  applied  to  the  murdered  man.  He  ventured, 
when  it  was  entirely  deserted,  to  approach  the  fatal  spot.  A 
small  cross  had  been  nailed  against  the  wall,  as  is  customary  in 
Spain,  to  mark  the  place  where  a  murder  has  been  committed ; 
and  just  below  it  he  read,  by  the  twinkling  light  of  a  lamp : 
'  Here  was  murdered  Don  Manuel  de  Manara.  Pray  to  God  for 
his  soul ! ' 

•"Still  more  confounded  and  perplexed  by  this  inscription,  he 


76  THE  CEA  YON  PAPERS. 

wandered  about  the  streets  until  the  night  was  far  advanced,  and 
all  was  still  and  lonely.  As  he  entered  the  principal  square, 
the  light  of  torches  suddenly  broke  on  him,  and  he  beheld  a 
grand  funeral  procession  moving  across  it.  There  was  a  great 
train  of  priests,  and  many  persons  of  dignified  appearance,  in 
ancient  Spanish  dresses,  attending  as  mourners,  none  of  whom 
he  knew.  Accosting  a  servant  who  followed  in  the  train,  he 
demanded  the  name  of  the  defunct. 

"  '  Don  Manuel  de  Manara,'  was  the  reply;  and  it  went  cold 
to  his  heart.  He  looked,  and  indeed  beheld  the  armorial  bear- 
ings of  his  family  emblazoned  on  the  funeral  escutcheons. 
Yet  not  one  of  his  family  was  to  be  seen  among  the  mourners. 
The  mystery  was  more  and  more  incomprehensible. 

"  He  followed  the  procession  as  it  moved  on  to  the  cathedral. 
The  bier  was  deposited  before  the  high  altar;  the  funeral  ser- 
vice was  commenced,  and  the  grand  organ  began  to  peal 
through  the  vaulted  aisles. 

"Again  the  youth  ventured  to  question  this  awful  pageant. 
'  Father,'  said  he,  with  trembling  voice,  to  one  of  the  priests, 
'  who  is  this  you  are  about  to  inter? ' 

"  '  Don  Manuel  de  Manara! '  replied  the  priest. 

"  'Father, 'cried  Don  Manuel,  impatiently,  'you  are  deceived. 
This  is  some  imposture.  Know  that  Don  Manuel  de  Manara  is 
alive  and  well,  and  now  stands  before  you.  J  am  Don  Manuel 
de  Manara ! ' 

"  '  Avaunt,  rash  youth! '  cried  the  priest;  'know  that  Don 
Manuel  de  Manara  is  dead ! — is  dead ! — is  dead ! — and  we  are  all 
souls  from  purgatory,  his  deceased  relatives  and  ancestors,  and 
others  that  have  been  aided  by  masses  of  his  family,  who  are 
permitted  to  come  here  and  pray  for  the  repose  of  his  soul ! ' 

"Don  Manuel  cast  round  a  fearful  glance  upon  the  assem- 
blage, in  antiquated  Spanish  garbs,  and  recognized  in  their  pale 
and  ghastly  countenances  the  portraits  of  many  an  ancestor 
that  hung  in  the  family  picture-gallery.  He  now  lost  all  self- 
command,  rushed  up  to  the  bier,  and  beheld  the  counterpart 
of  himself,  but  in  the  fixed  and  livid  lineaments  of  death. 
Just  at  that  moment  the  whole  choir  burst  forth  with  a  '  Re- 
quiescat  in  pace,'  that  shook  the  vaults  of  the  cathedral.  Don 
Manuel  sank  senseless  on  the  pavement.  He  was  found  there 
early  the  next  morning  by  the  sacristan,  and  conveyed  to  his 
home.  When  sufficiently  recovered,  he  sent  for  a  friar,  and 
made  a  full  confession  of  all  that  had  happened. 

" '  My  son,'  said  the  friar,  '  all  this  is  a  miracle  and  a  mys- 


DON  JUAN.  77 

tery,  intended  for  thy  conversion  and  salvation.  The  corpse 
thou  hast  seen  was  a  token  that  thou  hadst  died  to  sin  and  the 
-world ;  take  warning  by  it,  and  henceforth  live  to  righteous- 
ness and  heaven ! ' 

"Don  Manuel  did  take  warning  by  it.  Guided  by  the  coun- 
sels of  the  worthy  friar,  he  disposed  of  all  his  temporal  affairs ; 
dedicated  the  greater  part  of  his  wealth  to  pious  uses,  espe- 
cially to  the  performance  of  masses  for  souls  in  purgatory; 
and  finally,  entering  a  convent,  became  one  of  the  most  zealous 
and  exemplary  monks  in  Seville." 


While  my  companion  was  relating  this  story,  my  eyes  wan- 
dered, from  time  to  time,  about  the  dusky  church.  Methought 
the  burly  countenances  of  the  monks  in  their  distant  choir 
assumed  a  pallid,  ghastly  hue,  and  their  deep  metallic  voices 
had  a  sepulchral  sound.  By  the  time  the  story  was  ended, 
they  had  ended  their  chant;  and,  extinguishing  their  lights, 
glided  one  by  one,  like  shadows,  through  a  small  door  in  the 
side  of  the  choir.  A  deeper  gloom  prevailed  over  the  church; 
the  figure  opposite  me  on  horseback  grew  more  and  more 
spectral ;  and  I  almost  expected  to  see  it  bow  its  head. 

"It  is  time  to  be  off,"  said  my  companion,  "unless  we 
intend  to  sup  with  the  statue." 

"  I  have  no  relish  for  such  fare  or  such  company,"  replied  I; 
and,  following  my  companion,  we  groped  our  way  through  the 
mouldering  cloisters.  As  we  passed  by  the  ruined  cemetery, 
keeping  up  a  casual  conversation  by  way  of  dispelling  the 
loneliness  of  the  scene,  I  called  to  mind  the  words  of  the  poet: 

The  tombs 

And  monumental  caves  of  death  look  cold, 
And  shoot  a  chillness  to  my  trembling  heart! 
Give  me  thy  hand,  and  let  me  hear  thy  voice; 
Nay,  speak— and  let  me  hear  thy  voice; 
My  own  affrights  me  with  its  echoes. 

There  wanted  nothing  but  the  marble  statue  of  the  commander 
striding  along  the  echoing  cloisters  to  complete  the  haunted 
scene. 

Since  that  time  I  never  fail  to  attend  the  theatre  whenever 
the  story  of  Don  Juan  is  represented,  whether  in  pantomime 
or  opera.  In  the  sepulchral  scene,  I  feel  myself  quite  at  home ; 
and  when  the  statue  makes  his  appearance,  I  greet  him  as  an 
old  acquaintance.  When  the  audience  applaud,  I  look  round 


78  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

upon  them  with  a  degree  of  compassion.  "  Poor  souls !"  I  say 
to  myself,  "they  think  they  are  pleased;  they  think  they 
enjoy  this  piece,  and  yet  they  consider  the  whole  as  a  fiction ! 
How  much  more  would  they  enjoy  it,  if  like  me  they  knew  it 
to  be  true — and  had  seen  the  very  place!" 


BROEK: 

OB  THE  DUTCH  PARADISE. 

IT  has  long  been  a  matter  of  discussion  and  controversy 
among  the  pious  and  the  learned,  as  to  the  situation  of  the 
terrestrial  paradise  whence  our '  first  parents  were  exiled. 
This  question  has  been  put  to  rest  by  certain  of  the  faithful  in 
Holland,  who  have  decided  in  favor  of  the  village  of  Broek, 
about  six  miles  from  Amsterdam.  It  may  not,  they  observe, 
correspond  in  all  respects  to  the  description  of  the  Garden  of 
Eden,  handed  down  from  days  of  yore,  but  it  comes  nearer  to 
their  ideas  of  a  perfect  paradise  than  any  other  place  on  earth. 

This  eulogium  induced  me  to  make  some  inquiries  as  to  this 
favored  spot  in  the  course  of  a  sojourn  at  the  city  of  Amster- 
dam, and  the  information  I  procured  fully  justified  the  enthu- 
siastic praises  I  had  heard.  The  village  of  Broek  is  situated  in 
Waterland,  in  the  midst  of  the  greenest  and  richest  pastures  of 
Holland,  I  may  say,  of  Europe.  These  pastures  are  the  source 
of  its  wealth,  for  it  is  famous  for  its  dairies,  and  for  those  oval 
cheeses  which  regale  and  perfume  the  whole  civilized  world. 
The  population  consists  of  about  six  hundred  persons,  compris- 
ing several  families  which  have  inhabited  the  place  since  time 
immemorial,  and  have  waxed  rich  on  the  products  of  their 
meadows.  They  keep  all  their  wealth  among  themselves, 
intermarrying,  and  keeping  all  strangers  at  a  wary  distance. 
They  are  a  "  hard  money"  people,  and  remarkable  for  turning 
the  penny  the  right  way.  It  is  said  to  have  been  an  old  rule, 
established  by  one  of  the  primitive  financiers  and  legislators  of 
Broek,  that  no  one  should  leave  the  village  with  more  than  six 
guilders  in  his  pocket,  or  return  with  less  than  ten;  a  shrewd 
regulation,  well  worthy  the  attention  of  modern  political 
economists,  who  are  so  anxious  to  fix  the  balance  of  trade. 

What,  however,  renders  Broek  so  perfect  an  elysium  in  the 
eyes  of  all  true  Hollanders,  is  the  matchless  height  to  which 


BROEK  79 

the  spirit  of  cleanliness  is  carried  there.  It  amounts  almost  to 
a  religion  among  the  inhabitants,  who  pass  the  greater  part  of 
their  time  rubbing  and  scrubbing,  and  painting  and  varnishing; 
each  housewife  vies  with  her  neighbor  in  her  devotion  to  the 
scrubbing-brush,  as  zealous  Catholics  do  in  their  devotion  to 
the  cross ;  and  it  is  said  a  notable  housewife  of  the  place  in 
days  of  yore  is  held  in  pious  remembrance,  and  almost  canon- 
ized as  a  saint,  for  having  died  of  pure  exhaustion  and  chagrin 
in  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  scour  a  black  man  white. 

These  particulars  awakened  my  ardent  curiosity  to  see  a 
place  which  I  pictured  to  myself  the  very  fountain-head  of 
certain  hereditary  habits  and  customs  prevalent  among  the 
descendants  of  the  original  Dutch  settlers  of  my  native  State. 
I  accordingly  lost  no  time  in  performing  a  pilgrimage  to  Broek. 

Before  I  reached  the  place  I  beheld  symptoms  of  the  tranquil 
character  of  its  inhabitants.  A  little  clump-built  boat  was  in 
full  sail  along  the  lazy  bosom  of  a  canal,  but  its  sail  consisted 
of  the  blades  of  two  paddles  stood  on  end,  while  the  navigator 
sat  steering  with  a  third  paddle  in  the  stern,  crouched  down 
like  a  toad,  with  a  slouched  hat  drawn  over  his  eyes.  I 
presumed  him  to  be  some  nautical  lover  on  the  way  to  his 
mistress.  After  proceeding  a  little  farther  I  came  in  sight  of 
the  harbor  or  port  of  destination  of  this  drowsy  navigator. 
This  was  the  Broeken-Meer,  an  artificial  basin,  or  sheet  of 
olive-green  water,  tranquil  as  a  mill-pond.  On  this  the  village 
of  Broek  is  situated,  and  the  borders  are  laboriously  decorated 
with  flower-beds,  box-trees  clipped  into  all  kinds  of  ingenious 
shapes  and  fancies,  and  little  "lust"  houses  or  pavilions. 

I  alighted  outside  of  the  village,  for  no  horse  nor  vehicle  is 
permitted  to  enter  its  precincts,  lest  it  should  cause  defilement 
of  the  well-scoured  pavements.  Shaking  the  dust  off  my  feet, 
therefore,  I  prepared  to  enter,  with  due  reverence  and  circum- 
spection, this  sanctum  sanctorum  of  Dutch  cleanliness.  I 
entered  by  a  narrow  street,  paved  with  yellow  bricks,  laid 
edgewise,  so  clean  that  one  might  eat  from  them.  Indeed, 
they  were  actually  worn  deep,  not  by  the  tread  of  fe«t,  but  by 
the  friction  of  the  scrubbing-brush. 

The  houses  were  built  of  wood,  and  all  appeared  to  have  been 
freshly  painted,  of  green,  yellow,  and  other  bright  colors. 
They  were  separated  from  each  other  by  gardens  and  orchards, 
and  stood  at  some  httle  distance  from  the  street,  with  wide 
areas  or  courtyards,  paved  in  mosaic,  with  variegated  stones, 
polished  by  frequent  rubbing.  The  areas  were  divided  from 


gO  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

the  street  by  curiously- wrought  railings,  or  balustrades,  of  iron, 
surmounted  with  brass  and  copper  balls,  scoured  into  dazzling 
effulgence.  The  very  trunks  of  the  trees  in  front  of  the 
houses  were  by  the  same  process  made  to  look  as  if  they  had 
been  varnished.  The  porches,  doors,  and  window-frames  of 
the  houses  were  of  exotic  woods,  curiously  carved,  and  polished 
like  costly  furniture.  The  front  doors  are  never  opened, 
excepting  on  christenings,  marriages,  or  funerals ;  on  all  ordi- 
nary occasions,  visitors  enter  by  the  back  door.  In  former 
times,  persons  when  admitted  had  to  put  on  slippers,  but  this 
oriental  ceremony  is  no  longer  insisted  upon. 

A  poor  devil  Frenchman  who  attended  upon  me  as  cicerone, 
boasted  with  some  degree  of  exultation,  of  a  triumph  of  his 
countrymen  over  the  stern  regulations  of  the  place.  During 
the  time  that  Holland  was  overrun  by  the  armies  of  the  French 
Republic,  a  French  general,  surrounded  by  his  whole  etat 
major,  who  had  come  from  Amsterdam  to  view  the  wonders  of 
Broek,  applied  for  admission  at  one  of  these  taboo'd  portals. 
The  reply  was,  that  the  owner  never  received  any  one  who  did 
not  come  introduced  by  some  friend.  "Very  well,"  said  the 
general,  "take  my  compliments  to  your  master,  and  tell  him  I 
will  return  here  to-morrow  with  a  company  of  soldiers,  'pour 
parler  raison  avec  mon  ami  Hollandais.'1 "  Terrified  at  the 
idea  of  having  a  company  of  soldiers  billeted  upon  him,  the 
owner  threw  open  his  house,  entertained  the  general  and  his 
retinue  with  unwonted  hospitality ;  though  it  is  said  it  cost  the 
family  a  month's  scrubbing  and  scouring,  to  restore  all  things 
to  exact  order,  after  this  military  invasion.  My  vagabond  in- 
formant seemed  to  consider  this  one  of  the  greatest  victories  of 
th«  republic. 

I  walked  about  the  place  in  mute  wonder  and  admiration. 
A  dead  stillness  prevailed  around,  like  that  in  the  deserted 
streets  of  Pompeii.  No  sign  of  life  was  to  be  seen,  excepting 
now  and  then  a  hand,  and  a  long  pipe,  and  an  occasional  puff 
of  smoke,  out  of  the  window  of  some  "lust-haus"  overhanging 
a  miniature  canal;  and  on  approaching  a  little  nearer,  the 
periphery  in  profile  of  some  robustious  burgher. 

Among  the  grand  houses  pointed  out  to  me  were  those  of 
Claes  Bakker,  and  Cornelius  Bakker,  richly  carved  and 
gilded,  with  flower  gardens  and  clipped  shrubberies:  and  that 
of  the  Great  Ditmus,  who,  my  poor  devil  cicerone  informed  me, 
in  a  whisper,  was  worth  two  millions ;  all  these  were  mansions 
shut  up  from  the  world,  and  only  kept  to  be  cleaned.  After 


BROEK.  81 

having  been  conducted  from  one  wonder  to  another  of  the 
village,  I  was  ushered  by  my  guide  into  the  grounds  and 
gardens  of  Mynheer  Broekker,  another  mighty  cheese-manu- 
facturer, worth  eighty  thousand  guilders  a  year.  I  had  re- 
peatedly been  struck  with  the  similarity  of  all  that  I  had  seen 
in  this  amphibious  little  village,  to  the  buildings  and  land- 
scapes on  Chinese  platters  and  tea-pots;  but  here  I  found  the 
similarity  complete;  for  I  was  told  that  these  gardens  were 
modelled  upon  Van  Bramm's  description  of  those  of  Yuen  rm'n 
Yuen,  in  China.  Here  were  serpentine  walks,  with  treUised 
borders;  winding  canals,  with  fanciful  Chinese  bridges; 
flower-beds  resembling  huge  baskets,  with  the  flower  of  "love 
lies  bleeding"  falling  over  to  the  ground.  But  mostly  had  the 
fancy  of  Mynheer  Broekker  been  displayed  about  a  stagnant 
little  lake,  on  which  a  corpulent  little  pinnace  lay  at  anchor. 
On  the  border  was  a  cottage,  within  which  were  a  wooden  man 
and  woman  seated  at  table,  and  a  wooden  dog  beneath,  all  the 
size  of  lif e :  on  pressing  a  spring,  the  woman  commenced  spin- 
ning, and  the  dog  barked  furiously.  On  the  lake  were  wooden 
swans,  painted  to  the  life;  some  floating,  others  on  the  nest 
among  the  rushes;  while  a  wooden  sportsman,  crouched 
among  the  bushes,  was  preparing  his  gun  to  take  deadly  aim. 
In  another  part  of  the  garden  was  a  dominie  in  his  clerical 
robes,  with  wig,  pipe,  and  cocked  hat ;  and  mandarins  with 
nodding  heads,  amid  red  lions,  green  tigers,  and  blue  hares. 
Last  of  all,  the  heathen  deities,  in  wood  and  plaster,  male  and 
female,  naked  and  bare-faced  as  usual,  and  seeming  to  stare 
with  wonder  at  finding  themselves  in  such  strange  company. 

My  shabby  French  guide,  while  he  pointed  out  all  these 
mechanical  marvels  of  the  garden,  was  anxious  to  let  me  see 
that  he  had  too  polite  a  taste  to  be  pleased  with  them.  At 
every  new  nick-nack  he  would  screw  down  his  mouth,  shrug 
up  his  shoulders,  take  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  exclaim:  "Mafoi, 
Monsieur,  ces  Hollandais  sent  forts  pour  ces  Mtises  Zd/" 

To  attempt  to  gain  admission  to  any  of  these  stately  abodes 
was  out  of  the  question,  having  no  company  of  soldiers  to 
enforce  a  solicitation.  I  was  fortunate  enough,  however, 
through  the  aid  of  my  guide,  to  made  my  way  into  the 
kitchen  of  the  illustrious  Ditmus,  and  I  question  whether  the 
parlor  would  have  proved  more  worthy  of  observation.  The 
cook,  a  little  wiry,  hook-nosed  woman,  worn  thin  by  incessant 
action  and  friction,  was  bustling  about  among  her  kettles  and 
saucepans,  with  the  scullion  at  her  heels,  both  clattering  in 


82  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

wooden  shoes,  which  were  as  clean  and  white  as  the 
pails;  rows  of  vessels,  of  brass  and  copper,  regiments  of  pewter 
dishes,  and  portly  porringers,  gave  resplendent  evidence  of  the 
intensity  of  their  cleanliness ;  the  very  trammels  and  hangers 
in  the  fireplace  were  highly  scoured,  and  the  burnished  face  of 
the  good  Saint  Nicholas  shone  forth  from  the  iron  plate  of  the 
chimney-back. 

Among  the  decorations  of  the  kitchen  was  a  printed  sheet  of 
woodcuts,  representing  the  various  holiday  customs  of  Hol- 
land, with  explanatory  rhymes.  Here  I  was  delighted  to 
recognize  the  jollities  of  New  Year's  Day;  the  festivities  of 
Paas  and  Pinkster,  and  all  the  other  merry-makings  handed 
down  in  my  native  place  from  the  earliest  times  of  New  Am- 
sterdam, and  which  had  been  such  bright  spots  in  the  year  in 
my  childhood.  I  eagerly  made  myself  master  of  this  precious 
document,  for  a  trifling  consideration,  and  bore  it  off  as  a 
memento  of  the  place ;  though  I  question  if,  in  so  doing,  I  did 
not  carry  off  with  me  the  whole  current  literature  of  Broek. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention  that  this  village  is  the  paradise 
of  cows  as  well  as  men ;  indeed  you  would  almost  suppose  the 
cow  to  be  as  much  an  object  of  worship  here,  as  the  bull  was 
among  the  ancient  Egyptians ;  and  well  does  she  merit  it,  for 
she  is  in  fact  the  patroness  of  the  place.  The  same  scrupulous 
cleanliness,  however,  which  pervades  everything  else,  is  mani- 
fested in  the  treatment  of  this  venerated  animal.  She  is  not 
permitted  to  perambulate  the  place,  but  in  winter,  when  she 
forsakes  the  rich  pasture,  a  well-built  house  is  provided  for 
her,  well  painted,  and  maintained  in  the  most  perfect  order. 
Her  stall  is  of  ample  dimensions;  the  floor  is  scrubbed  and 
polished ;  her  hide  is  daily  curried  and  brushed  and  sponged  to 
her  heart's  content,  and  her  tail  is  daintily  tucked  up  to  the 
ceiling,  and  decorated  with  a  riband ! 

On  my  way  back  through  the  village,  I  passed  the  house  of 
the  prediger,  or  preacher ;  a  very  comfortable  mansion,  which 
led  me  to  augur  well  of  the  state  of  religion  in  the  village.  On 
inquiry,  I  was  told  that  for  a  long  time  the  inhabitants  lived 
in  a  great  state  of  indifference  as  to  religious  matters:  it  was 
in  vain  that  their  preachers  endeavored  to  arouse  their 
thoughts  as  to  a  future  state;  the  joys  of  heaven,  as  com- 
monly depicted,  were  but  little  to  their  taste.  At  length  a 
dominie  appeared  among  them  who  struck  out  in  a  different 
vein.  He  depicted  the  New  Jerusalem  as  a  place  all  smooth 
and  level;  with  beautiful  dykes,  and  ditches,  and  canals;  and 


SKETCHES  IN  PARIS  IN  1825.  83 

houses  all  shining  with  paint  and  varnish,  and  glazed  tiles; 
and  where  there  should  never  come  horse,  or  ass,  or  cat,  or 
dog,  or  anything  that  could  make  noise  or  dirt;  but  there 
should  be  nothing  but  rubbing  and  scrubbing,  and  washing 
and  painting,  and  gilding  and  varnishing,  for  ever  and  ever, 
amen !  Since  that  time,  the  good  housewives  of  Broek  have  all 
turned  their  faces  Zion-ward. 


SKETCHES  IN  PAEIS  IN  1825. 

FROM  THE  TRAVELLING  NOTE-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON, 
GENT. 

A  PARISIAN  hotel  is  a  street  set  on  end,  the  grand  staircase 
forming  the  highway,  and  every  floor  a  separate  habitation. 
Let  me  describe  the  one  in  which  I  am  lodged,  which  may 
serve  as  a  specimen  of  its  class.  It  is  a  huge  quadrangular 
pile  of  stone,  built  round  a  spacious  paved  court.  The  ground 
floor  is  occupied  by  shops,  magazines,  and  domestic  offices. 
Then  comes  the  entresol,  with  low  ceilings,  short  windows, 
and  dwarf  chambers ;  then  succeed  a  succession  of  floors,  or 
stories,  rising  one  above  the  other,  to  the  number  of  Mahomet's 
heavens.  Each  floor  is  like  a  distinct  mansion,  complete  in 
itself,  with  ante-chamber,  saloons,  dining  and  sleeping  rooms, 
kitchen,  and  other  conveniences  for  the  accommodation  of  a 
family.  Some  floors  are  divided  into  two  or  more  suites  of 
apartments.  Each  apartment  has  its  main  door  of  entrance, 
opening  upon  the  staircase,  or  landing-places,  and  locked  like 
a  street  door.  Thus  several  families  and  numerous  single  per- 
sons live  under  the  same  roof,  totally  independent  of  each 
other,  and  may  live  so  for  years  without  holding  more  inter- 
course than  is  kept  up  in  other  cities  by  residents  in  the  same 
street. 

Like  the  great  world,  this  little  microcosm  has  its  gradations 
of  rank  and  style  and  importance.  The  Premier,  or  first  floor, 
with  its  grand  saloons,  lofty  ceilings,  and  splendid  furniture, 
is  decidedly  the  aristocratical  part  of  the  establishment.  The 
second  floor  is  scarcely  less  aristocratical  and  magnificent ;  the 
other  floors  go  on  lessening  in  splendor  as  they  gain  in  altitude, 
and  end  with  the  attics,  the  region  of  petty  tailors,  clerks,  and 


84  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

sewing  girls.  To  make  the  filling  up  of  the  mansion  com- 
plete, every  odd  nook  and  corner  is  fitted  up  as  a  joli  petit 
appartement  a  garqon  (a  pretty  little  bachelor's  apartment), 
that  is  to  say,  some  little  dark  inconvenient  nestling-place  for 
a  poor  devil  of  a  bachelor. 

The  whole  domain  is  shut  up  from  the  street  by  a  great 
porte-cochere,  or  portal,  calculated  for  the  admission  of  car- 
riages. This  consists  of  two  massy  folding-doors,  that  swing 
heavily  open  upon  a  spacious  entrance,  passing  under  the  front 
of  the  edifice  into  the  court-yard.  On  one  side  is  a  spacious 
staircase  leading  to  the  upper  apartments.  Immediately  with- 
out the  portal  is  the  porter's  lodge,  a  small  room  with  one  or 
two  bedrooms  adjacent,  for  the  accommodation  of  the  con- 
cierge, or  porter,  and  his  family.  This  is  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant functionaries  of  the  hotel.  He  is,  in  fact,  the  Cerberus 
of  the  establishment,  and  no  one  can  pass  in  or  out  without  his 
knowledge  and  consent.  The  porte-cochere  in  general  is  fas- 
tened by  a  sliding  bolt,  from  which  a  cord  or  wire  passes  into 
the  porter's  lodge.  Whoever  wishes  to  go  out  must  speak  to 
the  porter,  who  draws  the  bolt.  A  visitor  from  without  gives 
a  single  rap  with  the  massive  knocker ;  the  bolt  is  immediately 
drawn,  as  if  by  an  invisible  hand;  the  door  stands  ajar,  the 
visitor  pushes  it  open,  and  enters.  A  face  presents  itself,  at 
the  glass  door  of  the  porter's  little  chamber;  the  stranger  pro- 
nounces the  name  of  the  person  he  comes  to  see.  If  the  person 
or  family  is  of  importance,  occupying  the  first  or  second  floor, 
the  porter  sounds  a  bell  once  or  twice,  to  give  notice  that  a 
visitor  is  at  hand.  The  stranger  in  the  meantime  ascends  the 
great  staircase,  the  highway  common  to  all,  and  arrives  at  the 
outer  door,  equivalent  to  a  street  door,  of  the  suite  of  rooms 
inhabited  by  his  friends.  Beside  this  hangs  a  bell-cord,  with 
which  he  rings  for  admittance. 

When  the  family  or  person  inquired  for  is  of  less  importance, 
or  lives  in  some  remote  part  of  the  mansion  less  easy  to  be 
apprised,  no  signal  is  given.  The  applicant  pronounces  the 
name  at  the  porter's  door,  and  is  told,  "Montez  au  troisieme, 
au  quatrieme;  sounez  a  la  porte  a  droite,  ou  a  gauche; 
("Ascend  to  the  third  or  fourth  story;  ring  the  bell  on  the 
right  or  left  hand  door,")  as  the  case  may  be. 

The  porter  and  his  wife  act  as  domestics  to  such  of  the  in- 
mates of  the  mansion  as  do  not  keep  servants ;  making  their 
beds,  arranging  their  rooms,  lighting  their  fires,  and  doing 
other  menial  offices,  for  which  they  receive  a  monthly  stipend. 


SKETCHES  IN  PARIS  IN  1826.  85 

They  are  also  in  confidential  intercourse  with  the  servants  of 
the  other  inmates,  and,  having  an  eye  on  all  the  in-comers  and 
out-goers,  are  thus  enabled,  by  hook  and  by  crook,  to  learn  the 
secrets  and  domestic  history  of  every  member  of  the  little  ter- 
ritory within  the  porte-cochere. 

The  porter's  lodge  is  accordingly  a  great  scene  of  gossip, 
where  all  the  private  affairs  of  this  interior  neighborhood  are 
discussed.  The  court-yard,  also,  is  an  assembling  place  in  the 
evenings  for  the  servants  of  the  different  families,  and  a  sister- 
hood of  sewing  girls  from  the  entresols  and  the  attics,  to  play 
at  various  games,  and  dance  to  the  music  of  their  own  songs, 
and  the  echoes  of  their  feet,  at  which  assemblages  the  porter's 
daughter  takes  the  lead ;  a  fresh,  pretty,  buxom  girl,  generally 
called  " La  Petite"  though  almost  as  tall  as  a  grenadier. 
These  little  evening  gatherings,  so  characteristic  of  this  gay 
country,  are  countenanced  by  the  various  families  of  the  man- 
sion, who  often  look  down  from  their  windows  and  balconies, 
on  moonlight  evenings,  and  enjoy  the  simple  revels  of  their 
domestics.  I  must  observe,  however,  that  the  hotel  I  am 
describing  is  rather  a  quiet,  retired  on">,  where  most  of  the 
inmates  are  permanent  residents  from  year  to  year,  so  that 
there  is  more  of  the  spirit  of  neighborhood  than  in  the  bust- 
ling, fashionable  hotels  in  the  gay  parts  of  Paris,  which  are 
continually  changing  their  inhabitants. 


MY  FRENCH  NEIGHBOR. 

I  OFTEN  amuse  myself  by  watching  from  my  window  (which, 
by  the  bye,  is  tolerably  elevated),  the  movements  of  the  teem- 
ing little  world  below  me ;  and  as  I  am  on  sociable  terms  with 
the  porter  and  his  wife,  I  gather  from  them,  as  they  light  my 
fire,  or  serve  my  breakfast,  anecdotes  of  all  my  fellow  lodgers. 
I  have  been  somewhat  curious  in  studying  a  little  antique 
Frenchman,  who  occupies  one  of  the  jolie  chambres  a  gar$on 
already  mentioned.  He  is  one  of  those  superannuated  veterans 
who  flourished  before  the  revolution,  and  have  weathered  all 
the  storms  of  Paris,  in  consequence,  very  probably,  of  being 
fortunately  too  insignificant  to  attract  attention.  He  has  a 
small  income,  which  he  manages  with  the  skill  of  a  French 
economist;  appropriating  so  much  for  his  lodgings,  so  much 
for  his  meals;  so  much  for  his  visits  to  St.  Cloud  and  Ver- 
sailles, and  so  much  for  his  seat  at  the  theatre.  He  has  resided 
in  the  hotel  for  years,  and  always  in  the  same  chamber,  which 


86  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

he  furnishes  at  his  own  expense.  The  decorations  of  the  room 
inark  his  various  ages.  There  are  some  gallant  pictures  which 
he  hung  up  in  his  younger  days ;  with  a  portrait  of  a  lady  of 
rank,  whom  he  speaks  tenderly  of,  dressed  in  the  old  French 
taste ;  and  a  pretty  opera  dancer,  pirouetting  in  a  hoop  petti- 
coat, who  lately  died  at  a  good  old  age.  In  a  corner  of  this 
picture  is  stuck  a  prescription  for  rheumatism,  and  below  it 
stands  an  easy-chair.  He  has  a  small  parrot  at  the  window, 
to  amuse  him  when  within  doors,  and  a  pug  dog  to  accompany 
him  in  his  daily  peregrinations.  While  I  am  writing  he  is 
crossing  the  court  to  go  out.  He  is  attired  in  his  best  coat,  of 
sky-blue,  and  is  doubtless  bound  for  the  Tuileries.  His  hair  is 
dressed  in  the  old  style,  with  powdered  ear-locks  and  a  pig-tail. 
His  little  dog  trips  after  him,  sometimes  on  four  legs,  some- 
times on  three,  and  looking  as  if  his  leather  small-clothes  were 
too  tight  for  him.  Now  the  old  gentleman  stops  to  have  a 
word  with  an  old  crony  who  lives  in  the  entresol,  and  is  just 
returning  from  his  promenade.  Now  they  take  a  pinch  of 
snuff  together;  now  they  pull  out  huge  red  cotton  handker- 
chiefs (those  "flags  of  abomination,"  as  they  have  well  been 
called)  and 'blow  their  noses  most  sonorously.  Now  they  turn 
to  make  remarks  upon  their  two  little  dogs,  who  are  exchang- 
ing the  morning's  salutation ;  now  they  part,  and  my  old  gen- 
tleman stops  to  have  a  passing  word  with  the  porter's  wife; 
and  now  he  sallies  forth,  and  is  fairly  launched  upon  the  town 
for  the  day. 

No  man  is  so  methodical  as  a  complete  idler,  and  none  so 
scrupulous  in  measuring  and  portioning  out  his  time  as  he 
whose  time  is  worth  nothing.  The  old  gentleman  in  question 
has  his  exact  hour  for  rising,  and  for  shaving  himself  by  a 
small  mirror  hung  against  his  casement.  He  sallies  forth  at  a 
certain  hour  every  morning  to  take  his  cup  of  coffee  and  his 
roll  at  a  certain  cafe,  where  he  reads  the  papers.  He  has  been 
a  regular  admirer  of  the  lady  who  presides  at  the  bar,  and 
always  stops  to  have  a  little  badinage  with  her  en  passant. 
He  has  his  regular  walks  on  the  Boulevards  and  in  the  Palais 
Royal,  where  he  sets  his  watch  by  the  petard  fired  off  by  the 
sun  at  mid-day.  He  has  his  daily  resort  in  the  Garden  of  the 
Tuileries,  to  meet  with  a  knot  of  veteran  idlers  like  himself, 
who  talk  on  pretty  much  the  same  subjects  whenever  they 
meet.  He  has  been  present  at  all  the  sights  and  shows  and 
rejoicings  of  Paris  for  the  last  fifty  years ;  has  witnessed  the 
great  events  of  the  revolution ;  the  guillotining  of  the  king  and 


SKETCHES  IN  PARIS  IN  1825.  87 

queen;  the  coronation  of  Bonaparte;  the  capture  of  Paris,  and 
the  restoration  of  the  Bourbons.  All  these  he  speaks  of  with 
the  coolness  of  a  theatrical  critic ;  and  I  question  whether  he 
has  not  been  gratified  by  each  in  its  turn;  not  from  any  inher- 
ent love  of  tumult,  but  from  that  insatiable  appetite  for  spec- 
tacle which  prevails  among  the  inhabitants  of  this  metropolis. 
I  have  been  amused  with  a  farce,  in  which  one  of  these  syste- 
matic old  triflers  is  represented.  He  sings  a  song  detailing  his 
whole  day's  round  of  insignificant  occupations,  and  goes  to  bed 
delighted  with  the  idea  that  his  next  day  will  be  an  exact  repe- 
tition of  the  same  routine : 

"  Je  me  couche  le  soir, 
Enchant6  de  pouvoir 
Recommencer  mon  train 
Le  lendemain 
Matin.". 


THE  ENGLISHMAN  AT  PARIS. 

IN  another  part  of  the  hotel  a  handsome  suite  of  rooms  is 
occupied  by  an  old  English  gentleman,  of  great  probity,  some 
understanding,  and  very  considerable  crustiness,  who  has  come 
to  France  to  live  economically.  He  has  a  very  fair  property, 
but  his  wife,  being  of  that  blessed  kind  compared  in  Scripture 
to  the  fruitful  vine,  has  overwhelmed  him  with  a  family  of 
buxom  daughters,  who  hang  clustering  about  him,  ready  to  be 
gathered  by  any  hand.  He  is  seldom  to  be  seen  in  public  with- 
out one  hanging  on  each  arm,  and  smiling  on  all  the  world, 
while  his  own  mouth  is  drawn  down  at  each  corner  like  a  mas- 
tiff's with  internal  growling  at  everything  about  him.  He  ad- 
heres rigidly  to  English  fashion  in  dress,  and  trudges  about  in 
long  gaiters  and  broad-brimmed  hat;  while  his  daughters 
almost  overshadow  him  with  feathers,  flowers,  and  French 
bonnets. 

He  contrives  to  keep  up  an  atmosphere  of  English  habits, 
opinions,  and  prejudices,  and  to  carry  a  semblance  of  London 
into  the  very  heart  of  Paris.  His  mornings  are  spent  at  Galig- 
nani's  news-room,  where  he  forms  one  of  a  knot  of  inveterate 
quidnuncs,  who  read  the  same  articles  over  a  dozen  times 
in  a  dozen  different  papers.  He  generally  dines  in  company 
with  some  of  his  own  countrymen,  and  they  have  what  is 
called  a  "comfortable  sitting"  after  dinner,  in  the  English 
fashion,  drinking  wine,  discussing  the  news  of  the  London 
papers,  and  canvassing  the  French  character,  the  French  me- 


88  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

tropolis,  and  the  French  revolution,  ending  with  a  unanimous 
admission  of  English  courage,  English  morality,  English  cook- 
ery, English  wealth,  the  magnitude  of  London,  and  the  ingrati- 
tude of  the  French. 

His  evenings  are  chiefly  spent  at  a  club  of  his  countrymen, 
where  the  London  papers  are  taken.  Sometimes  his  daughters 
entice  him  to  the  theatres,  but  not  often.  He  abuses  French 
tragedy,  as  .all  fustian  and  bombast,  Talma  as  a  ranter,  and 
Duchesnois  as  a  mere  termagant.  It  is  true  his  ear  is  not  suffi- 
ciently familiar  with  the  language  to  understand  French  verse, 
and  he  generally  goes  to  sleep  during  the  performance.  The 
wit  of  the  French  comedy  is  flat  and  pointless  to  him.  He 
would  not  give  one  of  Munden's  wry  faces,  or  Liston's  inex- 
pressible looks,  for  the  whole  of  it. 

He  will  not  admit  that  Paris  has  any  advantage  over  London. 
The  Seme  is  a  muddy  rivulet  in  comparison  with  the  Thames ; 
the  West  End  of  London  surpasses  the  finest  parts  of  the 
French  capital;  and  on  some  one's  observing  that  there  was 
a  very  thick  fog  out  of  doors:  "Pish!"  said  he,  crustily,  "it's 
nothing  to  the  fogs  we  have  in  London." 

He  has  infinite  trouble  in  bringing  his  table  into  anything 
like  conformity  to  English  rule.  With  his  liquors,  it  is  true, 
he  is  tolerably  successful.  He  procures  London  porter,  and  a 
stock  of  port  and  sherry,  at  considerable  expense ;  for  he  ob- 
serves that  he  cannot  stand  those  cursed  thin  French  wines, 
they  dilute  his  blood  so  much  as  to  give  him  the  rheumatism. 
As  to  their  white  wines,  he  stigmatizes  them  as  mere  substitutes 
for  cider;  and  as  to  claret,  why  "it  would  be  port  if  it  could." 
He  has  continual  quarrels  with  his  French  cook,  whom  he 
renders  wretched  by  insisting  on  his  conforming  to  Mrs.  Glass ; 
for  it  is  easier  to  convert  a  Frenchman  from  his  religion  than 
his  cookery.  The  poor  fellow,  by  dint  of  repeated  efforts,  once 
brought  himself  to  serve  up  ros  bif  sufficiently  raw  to  suit  what 
he  considered  the  cannibal  taste  of  his  master ;  but  then  he 
could  not  refrain,  at  the  last  moment,  adding  some  exquisite 
sauce,  that  put  the  old  gentleman  in  a  fury. 

He  detests  wood-fires,  and  has  procured  a  quantity  of  coal ; 
but  not  having  a  grate,  he  is  obliged  to  burn  it  on  the  hearth. 
Here  he  sits  poking  and  stirring  the  fire  with  one  end  of  a  tongs, 
while  the  room  is  as  murky  as  a  smithy ;  railing  at  French 
chimneys,  French  masons,  and  French  architects;  giving  a 
poke  at  the  end  of  every  sentence,  as  though  he  were  stirring 
up  the  very  bowels  of  the  delinquents  he  is  anathematizing. 


SKETCHES  IN  PAEIS  IN  1825.  89 

He  lives  in  a  state  militant  with  inanimate  objects  around  him ; 
gets  into  high  dudgeon  with  doors  and  casements,  because  they 
will  not  come  under  English  law,  and  has  implacable  feuds 
with  sundry  refractory  pieces  of  furniture.  Among  tkese  is 
one  in  particular  with  which  he  is  sure  to  have  a  high  quarrel 
every  time  he  goes  to  dress.  It  is  a  commode,  one  of  those 
smooth,  polished,  plausible  pieces  of  French  furniture,  that 
have  the  perversity  of  five  hundred  devils.  Each  drawer  has  a 
will  of  its  own ;  will  open  or  not,  just  as  the  whim  takes  it,  and 
sets  lock  and  key  at  defiance.  Sometimes  a  drawer  will  refuse  v 
to  yield  to  either  persuasion  or  force,  and  will  part  with  both 
handles  rather  than  yield;  another  will  come  out  in  the  most 
coy  and  coquettish  manner  imaginable;  elbowing  along,  zig- 
zag ;  one  corner  retreating  as  the  other  advances ;  making  a 
thousand  difficulties  and  objections  at  every  move;  until  the 
old  gentleman,  out  of  all  patience,  gives  a  sudden  jerk,  and 
brings  drawer  and  contents  into  the  middle  of  the  floor. 
His  hostility  to  this  unlucky  piece  of  furniture  increases  every 
day,  as  if  incensed  that  it  does  not  grow  better.  He  is  like  the 
fretful  invalid  who  cursed  his  bed,  that  the  longer  he  lay  the 
harder  it  grew.  The  only  benefit  he  has  derived  from  the 
quarrel  is,  that  it  has  furnished  him  with  a  crusty  joke,  which 
he  utters  on  all  occasions.  He  swears  that  a  French  commode 
is  the  most  incommodious  thing  in  existence,  and  that  although 
the  nation  cannot  make  a  joint-stool  that  will  stand  steady,  yet 
they  are  always  talking  of  everything's  being  perfectionee. 

His  servants  understand  his  humor,  and  avail  themselves  of 
it.  He  was  one  day  disturbed  by  a  pertinacious  rattling  and 
shaking  at  one  of  the  doors,  and  bawled  out  in  an  angry  tone 
to  know  the  cause  of  the  disturbance.  "Sir, "said  the  foot- 
man, testily,  ' '  it's  this  confounded  French  lock !"  ' '  Ah !"  said 
the  old  gentleman,  pacified  by  this  hit  at  the  nation,  "I 
thought  there  was  something  French  at  the  bottom  of  it !" 

ENGLISH  AND  FRENCH  CHARACTER. 

As  I  am  a  mere  looker-on  in  Europe,  and  hold  myself  as 
much  as  possible  aloof  from  its  quarrels  and  prejudices,  I  feel 
something  like  one  overlooking  a  game,  who,  without  any 
great  skill  of  his  own,  can  occasionally  perceive  the  blunders 
of  much  abler  players.  This  neutrality  of  feeling  enables  me 
to  enjoy  the  contrasts  of  character  presented  in  this  time  of 
general  peace,  when  the  various  people  of  Europe,  who  have  so 


90  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

long  been  sundered  by  wars,  are  brought  together  and  placed 
side  by  side  in  this  great  gathering-place  of  nations.  No 
greater  contrast,  however,  is  exhibited  than  that  of  the 
French  and  English.  The  peace  has  deluged  this  gay  capitcd 
with  English  visitors  of  all  ranks  and  conditions.  They 
throng  every  place  of  curiosity  and  amusement ;  fill  the  pub- 
lic gardens,  the  galleries,  the  cafes,  saloons,  theatres;  always 
herding  together,  never  associating  with  the  French.  The 
two  nations  are  like  two  threads  of  different  colors,  tangled 
together  but  never  blended. 

In  fact,  they  present  a  continual  antithesis,  and  seem  to  value 
themselves  upon  being  unlike  each  other;  yet  each  have  their 
peculiar  merits,  which  should  entitle  them  to  each  other's 
esteem.  The  French  intellect  is  quick  and  active.  It  flashes 
its  way  into  a  subject  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning ;  seizes 
upon  remote  conclusions  with  a  sudden  bound,  and  its  deduc- 
tions are  almost  intuitive.  The  English  intellect  is  less  rapid, 
but  more  persevering;  less  sudden,  but  more  sure  in  its  deduc- 
tions. The  quickness  and  mobility  of  the  French  enable  them 
to  find  enjoyment  in  the  multiplicity  of  sensations.  They 
speak  and  act  more  from  immediate  impressions  than  from 
reflection  and  meditation.  They  are  therefore  more  social  and 
communicative ;  more  fond  of  society,  and  of  places  of  public 
resort  and  amusement.  An  Englishman  is  more  reflective  in 
his  habits.  He  lives  in  the  world  of  his  own  thoughts,  and 
seems  more  self-existent  and  self-dependent.  He  loves  the 
quiet  of  his  own  apartment ;  even  when  abroad,  he  in  a  man- 
ner makes  a  little  solitude  around  him,  by  his  silence  and 
reserve;  he  moves  about  shy  and  solitary,  and  as  it  were 
buttoned  up,  body  and  soul. 

The  French  are  great  optimists;  they  seize  upon  every  good 
as  it  flies,  and  revel  in  the  passing  pleasure.  The  Englishman 
is  too  apt  to  neglect  the  present  good,  in  preparing  against  the 
possible  evil.  However  adversities  may  lower,  let  the  sun 
shine  but  for  a  moment,  and  forth  sallies  the  mercurial  French- 
man, in  holiday  dress  and  holiday  spirits,  gay  as  a  butterfly, 
as  though  his  sunshine  were  perpetual ;  but  let  the  sun  beam 
never  so  brightly,  so  there  be  but  a  cloud  in  the  horizon,  the 
wary  Englishman  ventures  forth  distrustfully,  with  his  um- 
brella in  his  hand. 

The  Frenchman  has  a  wonderful  facility  at  turning  small 
things  to  advantage.  No  one  can  be  gay  and  luxurious  on 
smaller  means;  no  one  requires  less  expense  to  be  happy.  He 


SKETCHES  IN  PARIS  IN  1835.  91 

practises  a  kind  of  gilding  in  his  style  of  living,  and  hammers 
out  every  guinea  into  gold  leaf.  The  Englishman,  on  the  con- 
trary, is  expensive  in  his  habits,  and  expensive  in  his  enjoy- 
ments. He  values  everything,  whether  useful  or  ornamental, 
by  what  it  costs.  He  has  no  satisfaction  in  show,  unless  it  be 
solid  and  complete.  Everything  goes  with  him  by  the  square 
foot.  Whatever  display  he  makes,  the  depth  is  sure  to  equal 
the  surface. 

The  Frenchman's  habitation,  like  himself,  is  open,  cheerful, 
bustling,  and  noisy.  He  lives  in  a  part  of  a  great  hotel,  with 
wide  portal,  paved  court,  a  spacious  dirty  stone  staircase,  and 
a  family  on  every  floor.  All  is  clatter  and  chatter.  He  is  good 
humored  and  talkative  with  his  servants,  sociable  with  his 
neighbors,  and  complaisant  to  all  the  world.  Anybody  has 
access  to  himself  and  his  apartments;  his  very  bed-room  is 
open  to  visitors,  whatever  may  be  its  state  of  confusion;  and 
all  this  not  from  any  peculiarly  hospitable  feeling,  but  from 
that  communicative  habit  which  predominates  over  his  char- 
acter. 

The  Englishman,  on  the  contrary,  ensconces  himself  in  a  snug 
brick  mansion,  which  he  has  all  to  himself;  locks  the  front 
door ;  puts  broken  bottles  along  his  walls,  and  spring-guns  and 
man-traps  in  his  gardens;  shrouds  himself  with  trees  and 
window-curtains;  exults  in  his  quiet  and  privacy,  and  seems 
disposed  to  keep  out  noise,  daylight,  and  company.  His  house, 
like  himself,  has  a  reserved,  inhospitable  exterior ;  yet  whoever 
gains  admittance  is  apt  to  find  a  warm  heart  and  warm  fireside 
within. 

The  French  excel  in  wit,  the  English  in  humor;  the  French 
have  gayer  fancy,  the  English  richer  imagination.  The  former 
are  full  of  sensibility ;  easily  moved,  and  prone  to  sudden  and 
great  excitement;  but  their  excitement  is  not  durable;  the 
English  are  more  phlegmatic ;  not  so  readily  affected,  but  capa- 
ble of  being  aroused  to  great  enthusiasm.  The  faults  of  these 
opposite  temperaments  are  that  the  vivacity  of  the  French  is 
apt  to  sparkle  up  and  be  frothy,  the  gravity  of  the  English  to 
settle  down  and  grow  muddy.  When  the  two  characters  can 
be  fixed  in  a  medium,  the  French  kept  from  effervescence  and 
the  English  from  stagnation,  both  will  be  found  excellent. 

This  contrast  of  character  may  also  be  noticed  in  the  great 
concerns  of  the  two  nations.  The  ardent  Frenchman  is  all  for 
military  renown;  he  fights  for  glory,  that  is  to  say  for  success 
in  arms.  For,  provided  the  national  flag  is  victorious,  he  cares 


92  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

little  about  the  expense,  the  injustice,  or  the  inutility  of  the 
war.  It  is  wonderful  how  the  poorest  Frenchman  will  revel  on 
a  triumphant  bulletin;  a  great  victory  is  meat  and  drink  to 
him;  and  at  the  sight  of  a  military  sovereign,  bringing  home 
captured  cannon  and  captured  standards,  he  throws  up  his 
greasy  cap  in  the  air,  and  is  ready  to  jump  out  of  his  wooden 
shoes  for  joy. 

John  Bull,  on  the  contrary,  is  a  reasoning,  considerate  per- 
son. If  he  does  wrong,  it  is  in  the  most  rational  way  imagin- 
able. He  fights  because  the  good  of  the  world  requires  it.  He 
is  a  moral  person,  and  makes  war  upon  his  neighbor  for  the 
maintenance  of  peace  and  good  order,  and  sound  principles. 
He  is  a  money-making  personage,  and  fights  for  the  prosperity 
of  commerce  and  manufactures.  Thus  the  two  nations  have 
been  fighting,  time  out  of  mind,  for  glory  and  good.  The 
French,  in  pursuit  of  glory,  have  had  their  capital  twice  taken; 
and  John  in  pursuit  of  good,  has  run  himself  over  head  and 
ears  in  debt. 


THE  TUILERIES  AND  WINDSOR  CASTLE. 

I  HAVE  sometimes  fancied  I  could  discover  national  charac- 
teristics in  national  edifices.  In  the  Chateau  of  the  Tuileries, 
for  instance,  I  perceive  the  same  jumble  of  contrarieties  that 
marks  the  French  character;  the  same  whimsical  mixture  of 
the  great  and  the  little;  the  splendid  and  the  paltry,  the  sub- 
lime and  the  grotesque.  On  visiting  this  famous  pile,  the  first 
thing  that  strikes  both  eye  and  ear  is  military  display.  The 
courts  gutter  with  steel-clad  soldiery,  and  resound  with  the 
tramp  of  horse,  the  roll  of  drum,  and  the  bray  of  trumpet. 
Dismounted  guardsmen  patrol  its  arcades,  with  loaded  carbines, 
jingling  spurs,  and  clanking  sabres.  Gigantic  grenadiers  are 
posted  about  its  staircases;  young  officers  of  the  guards  loll 
from  the  balconies,  or  lounge  in  groups  upon  the  terraces ;  and 
the  gleam  of  bayonet  from  window  to  window,  shows  that 
sentinels  are  pacing  up  and  down  the  corridors  and  ante- 
chambers. The  first  floor  is  brilliant  with  the  splendors  of  a 
court.  French  taste  has  tasked  itself  in  adorning  the  sump- 
tuous suites  of  apartments;  nor  are  the  gilded  chapel  and  the 
splendid  theatre  forgotten,  where  piety  and  pleasure  are  next- 
door  neighbors,  and  harmonize  together  with  perfect  French 
biens£ance. 

Mingled  up  with  all  this  regal  and  military  magnificence,  is 


SKETCHES  IN  PARIS  IN  1835.  93 

a  world  of  whimsical  and  makeshift  detail.  A  great  part  of 
the  huge  edifice  is  cut  up  into  little  chambers  and  nestling- 
places  for  retainers  of  the  court,  dependants  on  retainers,  and 
hangers-on  of  dependants.  Some  are  squeezed  into  narrow 
entresols,  those  low,  dark,  intermediate  slices  of  apartments 
between  floors,  the  inhabitants  of  which  seem  shoved  in  edge- 
ways, like  books  between  narrow  shelves ;  others  are  perched 
like  swallows,  undes  the  eaves ;  the  high  roofs,  too,  which  are 
as  tall  and  steep  as  a  French  cocked-hat,  have  rows  of  little 
dormer  windows,  tier  above  tier,  just  large  enough  to  admit 
light  and  air  for  some  dormitory,  and  to  enable  its  occupant 
to  peep  out  at  the  sky.  Even  to  the  very  ridge  of  the  roof, 
may  be  seen  here  and  there  one  of  these  air-holes,  with  a  stove- 
pipe beside  it,  to  carry  off  the  smoke  from  the  handful  of  fuel 
with  which  its  weazen-faced  tenant  simmers  his  demi-tasse  of 
coffee. 

On  approaching  the  palace  from  the  Pont  Royal,  you  take  in 
at  a  glance  all  the  various  strata  of  inhabitants ;  the  garreteer 
in  the  roof;  the  retainer  in  the  entresol;  the  courtiers  at  the 
casements  of  the  royal  apartments ;  while  on  the  ground-floor 
a  steam  of  savory  odors  and  a  score  or  two  of  cooks,  in  white 
caps,  bobbing  their  heads  about  the  windows,  betray  that 
scientific  and  all-important  laboratory,  the  Eoyal  Kitchen. 

Go  into  the  grand  ante-chamber  of  the  royal  apartments  on 
Sunday  and  see  the  mixture  of  Old  and  New  France ;  the  old 
emigres,  returned  with  the  Bourbons ;  little  withered,  spindle- 
shanked  old  noblemen,  clad  in  court  dresses,  that  figured  in 
these  saloons  before  the  revolution,  and  have  been  carefully 
treasured  up  during  their  exile ;  with  the  solitaires  and  ailes  de 
pigeon  of  former  days ;  and  the  court  swords  strutting  out  be- 
hind, like  pins  stuck  through  dry  bettles.  See  them  haunting 
the  scenes  of  their  former  splendor,  in  hopes  of  a  restitution  of 
estates,  like  ghosts  haunting  the  vicinity  of  buried  treasure ; 
while  around  them  you  see  the  Young  France,  that  have  grown 
up  in  the  fighting  school  of  Napoleon;  all  equipped  en  militaire; 
tall,  hardy,  frank,  vigorous,  sun-burned,  fierce- whiskered ; 
with  tramping  boots,  towering  crests,  and  glittering  breast- 
plates. 

It  is  incredible  the  number  of  ancient  and  hereditary  feeders 
on  royalty  said  to  be  housed  in  this  establishment.  Indeed  all 
the  royal  palaces  abound  with  noble  families  returned  from 
exile,  and  who  have  nestling-places  allotted  them  while  they 
await  the  restoration  of  their  estates,  or  the  much-talked-of 


94  THE  CRATON  PAPERS. 

law,  indemnity.  Some  of  them  have  fine  quarters,  but  poor 
living.  Some  families  have  but  five  or  six  hundred  francs  a 
year,  and  all  their  retinue  consists  of  a  servant  woman.  With 
all  this,  they  maintain  their  old  aristocratical  hauteur,  look 
down  with  vast  contempt  upon  the  opulent  families  which  have 
risen  since  the  revolution;  stigmatize  them  all  as, parvenus,  or 
upstarts,  and  refuse  to  visit  them. 

In  regarding  the  exterior  of  the  Tuileries,  with  all  its  out- 
ward signs  of  internal  populousness,  I  have  often  thought 
what  a  rare  sight  it  would  be  to  see  it  suddenly  unroofed,  and 
all  its  nooks  and  corners  laid  open  to  the  day.  It  would  be 
like  turning  up  the  stump  of  an  old  tree,  and  dislodging  the 
world  of  grubs,  and  ants,  and  beetles  lodged  beneath.  Indeed 
there  is  a  scandalous  anecdote  current,  that  in  the  time  of  one 
of  the  petty  plots,  when  petards  were  exploded  under  the  win- 
dows of  the  Tuileries,  the  police  made  a  sudden  investigation 
of  the  palace  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  a  scene  of 
the  most  whimsical  confusion  ensued.  Hosts  of  supernume- 
rary inhabitants  were  found  foisted  into  the  huge  edifice; 
every  rat-hole  had  its  occupant;  and  places  which  had  been 
considered  as  tenanted  only  by  spiders,  were  found  crowded 
with  a  surreptitious  population.  It  is  added,  that  many  ludi- 
crous accidents  occurred ;  great  scampering  and  slamming  of 
doors,  and  whisking  away  in  night-gowns  and  slippers;  and 
several  persons,  who  were  found  by  accident  in  their  neigh- 
bors' chambers,  evinced  indubitable  astonishment  at  the  cir- 
cumstance. 

As  I  have  fancied  I  could  read  the  French  character  in  the 
national  palace  of  the  Tuileries,  so  I  have  pictured  to  myself 
some  of  the  traits  of  John  Bull  hi  his  royal  abode  of  Windsor 
Castle.  The  Tuileries,  outwardly  a  peaceful  palace,  is  in  effect 
a  swaggering  military  hold ;  while  the  old  castle,  on  the  con- 
trary, in  spite  of  its  bullying  look,  is  completely  under  petti- 
coat government.  Every  corner  and  nook  is  built  up  into 
some  snug,  cosy  nestling-place,  some  "procreant  cradle,"  not 
tenanted  by  meagre  expectants  or  whiskered  warriors,  but  by 
sleek  placemen ;  knowing  realizers  of  present  pay  and  present 
pudding;  who  seem  placed  there  not  to  kill  and  destroy,  but 
to  breed  and  multiply.  Nursery-maids  and  children  shine 
with  rosy  faces  at  the  windows,  and  swarm  about  the  courts 
and  terraces.  The  very  soldiers  have  a  pacific  look,  and  when 
off  duty  may  be  seen  loitering  about  the  place  with  the  nursery- 
maids ;  not  making  love  to  them  in  the  gay  gallant  style  of  the 


SKETCHES  IN  PARIS  IN  1825.  .     95 

French  soldiery,  but  with  infinite  bonhomie  aiding  them  to 
take  care  of  the  broods  of  children. 

Though  the  old  castle  is  in  decay,  everything  about  it  thrives ; 
the  very  crevices  of  the  walls  are  tenanted  by  swallows,  rooks, 
and  pigeons,  all  sure  of  quiet  lodgment;  the  ivy  strikes  its 
roots  deep  in  the  fissures,  and  flourishes  about  the  mouldering 
tower.*  Thus  it  is  with  honest  John;  according  to  his  own 
account,  he  is  ever  going  to  ruin,  yet  everything  that  lives  on 
him,  thrives  and  waxes  fat.  He  would  fain  be  a  soldier,  and 
swagger  like  his  neighbors;  but  his  domestic,  quiet-loving, 
uxorious  nature  continually  gets  the  upper  hand;  and  though 
he  may  mount  his  helmet  and  gird  on  his  sword,  yet  he  is  apt 
to  sink  into  the  plodding,  pains-taking  father  of  a  family ;  with 
a  troop  of  children  at  his  heels,  and  his  women-kind  hanging 
on  each  arm. 

THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO. 

I  HAVE  spoken  heretofore  with  some  levity  of  the  contrast 
that  exists  between  the  English  and  French  character;  but  it 
deserves  more  serious  consideration.  They  are  the  two  great 
nations  of  modern  times  most  diametrically  opposed,  and  most 
worthy  of  each  other's  rivalry;  essentially  distinct  in  their 
characters,  excelling  in  opposite  qualities,  and  reflecting  lustre 
on  each  other  by  their  very  opposition.  In  nothing  is  this  con- 
trast more  strikingly  evinced  than  in  their  military  conduct. 
For  ages  have  they  been  contending,  and  for  ages  have  they 
crowded  each  other's  history  with  acts  of  splendid  heroism. 
Take  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  for  instance,  the  last  and  most 
memorable  trial  of  their  rival  prowess.  Nothing  could  surpass 
the  brilliant  daring  on  the  one  side,  and  the  steadfast  enduring 
on  the  other.  The  French  cavalry  broke  like  waves  on  the 
compact  squares  of  English  infantry.  They  were  seen  gallop- 
ing round  those  serried  walls  of  men,  seeking  in  vain  for  an 
entrance;  tossing  their  arms  in  the  air,  in  the  heat  of  their 
enthusiasm,  and  braving  the  whole  front  of  battle.  The 
British  troops,  on  the  other  hand,  forbidden  to  move  or  fire, 
stood  firm  and  enduring.  Their  columns  were  ripped  up  by 
cannonry;  whole  rows  were  swept  down  at  a  shot;  the  sur- 
vivors closed  their  ranks,  and  stood  firm.  In  this  way  many 


*  The  above  sketch  was  written  before  the  thorough  repairs  and  magnificent 
additions  that  have  been  made  of  late  years  to  Windsor  Cartle. 


96  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

columns  stood  through  the  pelting  of  the  iron  tempest  without 
firing  a  shot ;  without  any  action  to  stir  their  blood,  or  excite 
their  spirits.  Death  thinned  their  ranks,  but  could  not  shake 
their  souls. 

A  beautiful  instance  of  the  quick  and  generous  impulses  to 
which  the  French  are  prone,  is  given  in  the  case  of  a  French 
cavalier,  in  the  hottest  of  the  action,  charging  furiously  upon  a 
British  officer,  but  perceiving  in  the  moment  of  assault  that  his 
adversary  had  lost  his  sword-arm,  dropping  the  point  of  his 
sabre,  and  courteously  riding  on.  Peace  be  with  that  generous 
warrior,  whatever  were  his  fate!  If  he  went  down  in  the 
storm  of  battle,  with  the  foundering  fortunes  of  his  chieftain, 
may  the  turf  of  Waterloo  grow  green  above  his  grave  1  and 
happier  far  would  be  the  fate  of  such  a  spirit,  to  sink  amid  the 
tempest,  unconscious  of  defeat,  than  to  survive,  and  mourn 
over  the  blighted  laurels  of  his  country. 

In  this  way  the  two  armies  fought  through  a  long  and  bloody 
day.  The  French  with  enthusiastic  valor,  the  English  with 
cool,  inflexible  courage,  until  Fate,  as  if  to  leave  the  question 
of  superiority  still  undecided  between  two  such  adversaries, 
brought  up  the  Prussians  to  decide  the  fortunes  of  the  field. 

It  was  several  years  afterward  that  I  visited  the  field  of 
Waterloo.  The  ploughshare  had  been  busy  with  its  oblivious 
labors,  and  the  frequent  harvest  had  nearly  obliterated  the 
vestiges  of  war.  Still  the  blackened  ruins  of  Hoguemont  stood, 
a  monumental  pile,  to  mark  the  violence  of  this  vehement 
struggle.  Its  broken  walls,  pierced  by  bullets,  and  shattered 
by  explosions,  showed  the  deadly  strife  that  had  taken  place 
within;  when  Gaul  and  Briton,  hemmed  in  between  narrow 
walls,  hand  to  hand  and  foot  to  foot,  fought  from  garden  to 
court-yard,  from  court-yard  to  chamber,  with  intense  and  con- 
centrated rivalship.  Columns  of  smoke  towered  from  this 
vortex  of  battle  as  from  a  volcano:  "it  was,"  said  my  guide, 
"like  a  little  hell  upon  earth."  Not  far  off,  two  or  three  broad 
spots  of  rank,  unwholesome  green  still  marked  the  places 
where  these  rival  warriors,  after  their  fierce  and  fitful  struggle, 
slept  quietly  together  in  the  lap  of  their  common  mother  earth. 
Over  all  the  rest  of  the  field  peace  had  resumed  its  sway.  The 
thoughtless  whistle  of  the  peasant  floated  on  the  air,  instead  of 
the  trumpet's  clangor;  the  team  slowly  labored  up  the  hill-side, 
once  shaken  by  the  hoofs  of  rushing  squadrons ;  and  wild  fields 
of  corn  waved  peacefully  over  the  soldiers'  graves,  as  summer 
eeas  dimple  over  the  place  where  many  a  tall  ship  lies  buried. 


SKETCHES  IN  PARIS  IN  1825.  97 

To  the  foregoing  desultory  notes  on  the  French  military 
character,  let  me  append  a  few  traits  which  I  picked  up  ver- 
bally in  one  of  the  French  provinces.  They  may  have  already 
appeared  in  print,  but  I  have  never  met  with  them. 

At  the  breaking  out  of  the  revolution,  when  so  many  of  the 
old  families  emigrated,  a  descendant  of  the  great  Turenne,  by 
the  name  of  De  Latour  D'Auvergne,  refused  to  accompany  his 
relations,  and  entered  into  the  Republican  army.  He  served 
in  all  the  campaigns  of  the  revolution,  distinguished  himself 
by  his  valor,  his  accomplishments,  and  his  generous  spirit,  and 
might  have  risen  to  fortune  and  to  the  highest  honors.  He 
refused,  however,  all  rank  in  the  army,  above  that  of  captain, 
and  would  receive  no  recompense  for  his  achievements  but  a 
sword  of  honor.  Napoleon,  in  testimony  of  his  merits,  gave 
him  the  title  of  Premier  Grenadier  de  France  (First  Grenadier 
of  France),  which  was  the  only  title  he  would  ever  bear.  He 
was  killed  in  Germany,  in  1809  or  '10.  To  honor  his  memory, 
his  place  was  always  retained  in  his  regiment,  as  if  he  still  oc- 
cupied it ;  and  whenever  the  regiment  was  mustered,  and  the 
name  of  De  Latour  D'Auvergne  was  called  out,  the  reply  was, 
"  Dead  on  the  field  of  honor!" 


PARIS  AT  THE  RESTORATION. 

PARIS  presented  a  singular  aspect  just  after  the  downfall  of 
Napoleon,  and  the  restoration  of  the  Bourbons.  It  was  filled 
with  a  restless,  roaming  population;  a  dark,  sallow  race,  with 
fierce  moustaches,  black  cravats,  and  feverish,  menacing 
looks;  men  suddenly  thrown  out  of  employ  by  the  return  of 
peace;  officers  cut  short  in  their  career,  and  cast  loose  with 
scanty  means,  many  of  them  in  utter  indigence,  upon  the 
'world;  the  broken  elements  of  armies.  They  haunted  the 
places  of  public  resort,  like  restless,  unhappy  spirits,  taking 
no  pleasure;  hanging  about,  like  lowering  clouds  that  linger 
after  a  storm,  and  giving  a  singular  air  of  gloom  to  this  other- 
wise gay  metropolis. 

The  vaunted  courtesy  of  the  old  school,  the  smooth  urbanity 
that  prevailed  in  former  days  of  settled  government  and  long- 
established  aristocracy,  had  disappeared  amid  the  savage  re- 
publicanism of  the  revolution  and  the  military  furor  of  the 
empire ;  recent  reverses  had  stung  the  national  vanity  to  the 
quick;  and  English  travellers,  who  crowded  to  Paris  on  the 
return  of  peace,  expecting  to  meet  with  a  gay,  good-humored, 


98  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

complaisant  populace,  such  as  existed  in  the  time  of  the  "  Sen- 
timental Journey,"  were  surprised  at  finding  them  irritable 
and  fractious,  quick  at  fancying  affronts,  and  not  unapt  to 
offer  insults.  They  accordingly  inveighed  with  heat  and  bit- 
terness at  the  rudeness  they  experienced  in  the  French 
metropolis;  yet  what  better  had  they  to  expect?  Had  Charles 
II.  been  reinstated  in  his  kingdom  by  the  valor  of  French 
troops;  had  he  been  wheeled  triumphantly  to  London  over 
the  trampled  bodies  and  trampled  standards  of  England's 
bravest  sons;  had  a  French  general  dictated  to  the  English 
capital,  and  a  French  army  been  quartered  in  Hyde-Park ;  had 
Paris  poured  forth  its  motley  population,  and  the  wealthy 
bourgeoisie  of  every  French  trading  town  swarmed  to  London ; 
crowding  its  squares;  filling  its  streets  with  their  equipages; 
thronging  its  fashionable  hotels,  and  places  of  amusements; 
elbowing  its  impoverished  nobility  out  of  their  palaces  and 
opera-boxes,  and  looking  down  on  the  humiliated  inhabitants 
as  a  conquered  people ;  in  such  a  reverse  of  the  case,  what  degree 
of  courtesy  would  the  populace  of  London  have  been  apt  to 
exercise  toward  their  visitors?  * 

On  the  contrary,  I  have  always  admired  the  degree  of  mag- 
nanimity exhibited  by  the  French  on  the  occupation  of  their 
capital  by  the  English.  When  we  consider  the  military  ambi- 
tion of  this  nation,  its  love  of  glory;  the  splendid  height  to 
which  its  renown  in  arms  had  recently  been  carried,  and  with 
these,  the  tremendous  reverses  it  had  just  undergone;  its 
armies  shattered,  annihilated ;  its  capital  captured,  garrisoned, 
and  overrun,  and  that  too  by  its  ancient  rival,  the  English, 
toward  whom  it  had  cherished  for  centuries  a  jealous  and 
almost  religious  hostility;  could  we  have  wondered  if  the  tiger 
epirit  of  this  fiery  people  had  broken  out  in  bloody  feuds  and 
deadly  quarrels ;  and  that  they  had  sought  to  rid  themselves 
in  any  way  of  their  invaders?  But  it  is  cowardly  nations  only, 
those  who  dare  not  wield  the  sword,  that  revenge  themselves 
with  the  lurking  dagger.  There  were  no  assassinations  in 
Paris.  The  French  had  fought  valiantly,  desperately,  in  the 
field ;  but,  when  valor  was  no  longer  of  avail,  they  submitted 
like  gallant  men  to  a  fate  they  could  not  withstand.  Some  in- 
stances of  insult  from  the  populace  were  experienced  by  their 

*  The  above  remarks  were  suggested  by  a  conversation  with  the  late  Mr.  Can- 
ning, whom  the  author  met  in  Paris,  and  who  expressed  himself  in  the  most  liberal 
way  concerning  the  magnanimity  of  the  French  on  the  occupation  of  their  capital 
by  strangers. 


SKETCHES  IN  PARIS  IN  1825.  99 

English  visitors ;  some  personal  rencontres,  which  led  to  duels, 
did  take  place ;  but  these  smacked  of  open  and  honorable  hos- 
tility. No  instances  of  lurking  and  perfidious  revenge  oc- 
curred, and  the  British  soldier  patrolled  the  f  facets  of  Paris 
safe  from  treacherous  assault. 

If  the  English  met  with  harshness  and  repuls  in  social  inter- 
course, it  was  in  some  degree  a  proof  that  the  people  are  more 
sincere  than  has  been  represented.  The  emigrants  who  had 
just  returned,  were  not  yet  reinstated.  Society  was  constituted 
of  those  who  had  nourished  under  the  late  regime;  the  newly 
ennobled,  the  recently  enriched,  who  felt  their  prosperity  and 
their  consequence  endangered  by  this  change  of  things.  The 
broken-down  officer,  who  saw  his  glory  tarnished,  his  fortune 
ruined,  his  occupation  gone,  could  not  be  expected  to  lool  with 
complacency  upon  the  authors  of  his  downfall.  The  E^s'lish 
visitor,  flushed  with  health,  and  wealth,  and  victory,  could 
little  enter  into  the  feelings  of  the  blighted  warrior,  Furred 
with  a  hundred  battles,  an  exile  from  the  camp,  broken  iv  con- 
stitution by  the  wars,  impoverished  by  the  peace,  a  TO.  cast 
back,  a  needy  stranger  in  the  splendid  but  captured  metropolis 
of  bis  country. 

"  Oh !  who  can  tell  what  heroes  feel, 
When  all  but  life  and  honor's  lost!" 

And  here  let  me  notice  the  conduct  of  the  French  soldiery 
on  the  dismemberment  of  the  army  of  the  Loire,  when  two 
hundred  thousand  men  were  suddenly  thrown  out  of  employ ; 
men  who  had  been  brought  up  to  the  camp,  and  scarce  knew 
any  other  home.  Few  in  civil,  peaceful  life,  are  aware  of  the 
severe  trial  to  the  feelings  that  takes  place  on  the  dissolution 
of  a  regiment.  There  is  a  fraternity  in  arms.  The  community 
'of  dangers,  hardships,  enjoyments ;  the  participation  in  battles 
nnd  victories ;  the  companionship  in  adventures,  at  a  time  of 
life  when  men's  feelings  are  most  fresh,  susceptible,  and  ardent, 
all  these  bind  the  members  of  a  regiment  strongly  together. 
To  them  the  regiment  is  friends,  family,  home.  They  identify 
themselves  with  its  fortunes,  its  glories,  its  disgraces.  Imagine 
this  romantic  tie  suddenly  dissolved;  the  regiment  broken  up; 
the  occupation  of  its  members  gone ;  their  military  pride  mor- 
tified ;  the  career  of  glory  closed  behind  them ;  that  of  obscurity, 
dependence,  want,  neglect,  perhaps  beggary,  before  them. 
Such  was  the  case  with  the  soldiers  of  the  Army  of  the  Loire. 
They  were  sent  off  in  squads,  with  officers,  to  the  principal 


100  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

towns  where  they  were  to  be  disarmed  and  discharged.  In 
this  way  they  passed  through  the  country  with  arms  in  their 
hands,  often  exposed  to  slights  and  scoffs,  to  hunger  and  vari- 
ous hardships  and  privations ;  but  they  conducted  themselves 
magnanimously,  without  any  of  those  outbreaks  of  violence 
and  wrong  that  so  often  attend  the  dismemberment  of  armies. 


The  few  years  that  have  elapsed  since  the  time  above  alluded 
to,  have  already  had  their  effect.  The  proud  and  angry  spirits 
which  then  roamed  about  Paris  unemployed  have  cooled  down 
and  found  occupation.  The  national  character  begins  to  re- 
cover its  old  channels,  though  worn  deeper  by  recent  torrents. 
The  natural  urbanity  of  the  French  begins  to  find  its  way,  like 
oil,  to  the  surface,  though  there  still  remains  a  degree  of  rough- 
ness and  bluntness  of  manner,  partly  real,  and  partly  affected, 
by  such  as  imagine  it  to  indicate  force  and  frankness.  The 
events  of  the  last  thirty  years  have  rendered  the  French  a 
more  reflecting  people.  They  have  acquired  greater  indepen- 
dence of  mind  and  strength  of  judgment,  together  with  a  por- 
tion of  that  prudence  which  results  from  experiencing  the 
dangerous  consequences  of  excesses.  However  that  period 
may  have  been  stained  by  crimes,  and  filled  with  extrava- 
gances, the  French  have  certainly  come  out  of  it  a  greater 
nation  than  before.  One  of  their  own  philosophers  observes 
that  in  one  or  two  generations  the  nation  will  probably  com- 
bine the  ease  and  elegance  of  the  old  character  with  force  and 
solidity.  They  were  light,  he  says,  before  the  revolution;  then 
wild  and  savage ;  they  have  become  more  thoughtful  and  re- 
flective. It  is  only  old  Frenchmen,  now-a-days,  that  are  gay 
and  trivial ;  the  young  are  very  serious  personages. 


P.S.  In  the  course  of  a  morning's  walk,  about  the  time  the 
above  remarks  were  written,  I  observed  the  Duke  of  Wellington, 
who  was  on  a  brief  visit  to  Paris.  He  was  alone,  simply  attired 
in  a  blue  frock;  with  an  umbrella  under  his  arm,  and  his  hat 
drawn  over  his  eyes,  and  sauntering  across  the  Place  Ven- 
dome,  close  by  the  Column  of  Napoleon.  He  gave  a  glance  up 
at  the  column  as  he  passed,  and  continued  his  loitering  way  up 
the  Rue  de  la  Paix;  stopping  occasionally  to  gaze  in  at  the 
shop-windows;  elbowed  now  and  then  by  other  gazers,  who 
little  suspected  that  the  quiet,  lounging  individual  they  were 
jostling  so  unceremoniouslyi  was  the  conqueror  who  had  twice 


AMERICAN  RESEARCHES  IN  ITALY.  101 

entered  the  capital  victoriously ;  had  controlled  the  destinies 
of  the  nation,  and  eclipsed  the  glory  of  the  military  idol,  at  the 
base  of  whose  column  he  was  thus  negligently  sauntering. 

Some  years  afterward  I  was  af  an  ey  Drag's 
given  by  the  Duke  at  Apsley  House;  to  Wiliiam  IV.'  The  Duke 
had  manifested  his  admiration'  of  ins*  $fte£k  ja/l^rsarv,  by 
having  portraits  of  him  in  different'  pares  of  fcne*  hbuseV  At 
the  bottom  of  the  grand  staircase,  stood  the  colossal  statue  of 
the  Emperor,  by  Canova.  It  was  of  marble,  in  the  antique 
style,  with  one  arm  partly  extended,  holding  a  figure  of  vic- 
tory. Over  this  arm  the  ladies,  in  tripping  up  stairs  to  the 
ball,  had  thrown  their  shawls.  It  was  a  singular  office  for  the 
statue  of  Napoleon  to  perform  in  the  mansion  of  the  Duke  of 
Wellington! 

"  Imperial  Caesar  dead,  and  turned  to  clay,"  etc.,  etc. 


AMEEICAN  RESEAECHES  IN  ITALY. 

LIFE  OF  TASSO:   RECOVERY  OF  A  LOST  PORTRAIT  OH   DANTE. 

To  the  Editor  of  the  Knickerbocker: 

SIR  :  Permit  me  through  the  pages  of  your  magazine  to  call 
the  attention  of  the  public  to  the  learned  and  yJegant  re- 
searches in  Europe  of  one  of  our  countrymen,  Mr.  R.  H. 
Wilde,  of  Georgia,  formerly  a  member  of  the  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives. After  leaving  Congress,  Mr.  Wilde  a  few  years 
since  spent  about  eighteen  months  in  travelling  through  differ- 
ent parts  of  Europe,  until  he  became  stationary  for  a  time  in 
Tuscany.  Here  he  occupied  himself  with  researcnes  concern- 
ing the  private  life  of  Tasso,  whose  mysterious  and  romantic 
love  for  the  Princess  Leonora,  his  madness  and  imprisonment, 
had  recently  become  the  theme  of  a  literary  controversy,  not 
yet  ended;  curious  in  itself,  and  rendered  still  more  curious  by 
some  alleged  manuscripts  of  the  poet's,  brought  forward  by 
Count  Albert!  Mr.  Wilde  entered  into  the  investigation  with 
the  enthusiasm  of  a  poet,  and  the  patience  and  accuracy  of  a 
case-hunter;  and  has  produced  a  work  now  in  Mie  press,  in 
which  the  "  vexed  questions''  concerning  Tasso  aio  most  ably 
discussed,  and  lights  thrown  upon  them  by  his  letters,  and  by 
various  of  his  sonnets,  which  last  are  rendered  into  English 


102  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

with  rare  felicity.  While  Mr.  Wilde  was  occupied  upon  this 
work,  he  became  acquainted  with  Signor  Carlo  Liverati,  an 
artist  of -considerable  merit,  and  especially  well  versed  in  the 
antiquities*  of  Flore'n&e:,  "  '.This  gentleman  mentioned  inciden- 
tally one  day,  in  the  course  of  conversation,  that  there  once 
and  prabnb'y  Kstijl  existed  in  the  Bargello,  anciently  both  the 
prison  and  the  palace  of  the  republic,  an  authentic  portrait  of 
Dante.  It  was  believed  to  be  in  fresco,  on  a  wall  which  after- 
ward, by  some  strange  neglect  or  inadvertency,  had  been  cov- 
ered with  whitewash.  Signor  Liverati  mentioned  the  circum- 
stance merely  to  deplore  the  loss  of  so  precious  a  portrait,  and 
to  regret  the  almost  utter  hopelessness  of  its  recovery. 

As  Mr.  Wilde  had  not  as  yet  imbibed  that  enthusiastic 
admiration  for  Dante  which  possesses  all  Italians,  by  whom 
the  poet  is  almost  worshipped,  this  conversation  made  but  a 
slight  impression  on  him  at  the  time.  Subsequently,  how- 
ever, his  researches  concerning  Tasso  being  ended,  he  began 
to  amuse  his  leisure  hours  with  attempts  to  translate  some 
specimens  of  Italian  lyric  poetry,  and  to  compose  very  short 
biographical  sketches  of  the  authors.  In  these  specimens, 
which  as  yet  exist  only  in  manuscript,  he  has  shown  the  same 
critical  knowledge  of  the  Italian  language,  and  admirable 
command  of  the  English,  that  characterize  his  translations 
of  Tasso.  He  had  not  advanced  far  in  these  exercises,  when 
the  obscure  and  contradictory  accounts  of  many  incidents  in 
the  life  of  Dante  caused  him  much  embarrassment,  and 
sorely  piqued  his  curiosity.  About  the  same  time  he  received, 
through  the  courtesy  of  Don  Neri  dei  Principi  Corsini,  what 
he  had  long  most  fervently  desired,  a  permission  from  the 
Grand  Duke  to  pursue  his  investigations  in  the  secret  archives 
of  Florence,  with  power  to  obtain  copies  therefrom.  This  was 
a  rich  and  almost  unwrought  mine  of  literary  research ;  for  to 
Italians  themselves,  as  well  as  to  foreigners,  their  archives  for 
the  most  part  have  been  long  inaccessible.  For  two  years 
Mr.  Wilde  devoted  himself  with  indefatigable  ardor  to  ex- 
plore the  records  of  the  republic  during  the  time  of  Dante. 
These  being  written  in  barbarous  Latin  and  semi-Gothic 
characters,  on  parchment  more  or  less  discolored  and  muti- 
lated, with  ink  sometimes  faded,  were  rendered  still  more 
illegible  by  the  arbitrary  abbreviations  of  the  notaries.  They 
require,  in  fact,  an  especial  study;  few  even  of  the  officers 
employed  in  the  "  Archivio  delle  Riformagione"  can  read  them 
currently  and  correctly* 


AMERICAN  RESEARCHES  IN  ITALY.  1Q3 

Mr.  Wilde  however  persevered  in  his  laborious  task  with 
a  patience  severely  tried,  but  invincible.  Being  without  ap 
index,  each  file,  each  book,  required  to  be  examined  page  by 
page,  to  ascertain  whether  any  particular  of  the  immortal 
poet's  political  life  had  escaped  the  untiring  industry  of  his 
countrymen.  This  toil  was  not  wholly  fruitless,  and  several 
interesting  facts  obscurely  known,  and  others  utterly  un 
known  by  the  Italians  themselves,  are  drawn  forth  by  Mr. 
Wilde  from  the  oblivion  of  these  archives. 

While  thus  engaged,  the  circumstance  of  the  lost  portrait 
of  Dante  was  again  brought  to  Mr.  Wilde's  mind,  but  now- 
excited  intense  interest.  In  perusing  the  notes  of  the  late 
learned  Canonico  Moreri  on  Filelfo's  life  of  Dante,  he  found 
it  stated  that  a  portrait  of  the  poet  by  Giotto  was  formerly 
to  be  seen  hi  the  Bargello.  He  learned  also  that  Signer 
Scotti,  who  has  charge  of  the  original  drawings  of  the  old 
masters  in  the  imperial  and  royal  gallery,  had  made  several 
years  previously  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  set  on  foot  a  project 
for  the  recovery  of  the  lost  treasure.  Here  was  a  new  vein 
of  inquiry,  which  Mr.  Wilde  followed  up  with  his  usual  energy 
and  sagacity.  He  soon  satisfied  himself,  by  reference  to 
Yasari,  and  to  the  still  more  ancient  and  decisive  authority 
of  Filippo  Villari,  who  lived  shortly  after  the  poet,  that  Giotto, 
the  friend  and  contemporary  of  Dante,  did  undoubtedly  paint 
his  likeness  in  the  place  indicated.  Giotto  died  in  1336,  but 
as  Dante  was  banished,  and  was  even  sentenced  to  be  burned, 
in  1302,  it  was  obvious  the  work  must  have  been  executed 
before  that  time ;  since  the  portrait  of  one  outlawed  and  capi- 
tally convicted  as  an  enemy  to  the  commonwealth  would 
never  have  been  ordered  or  tolerated  in  the  chapel  of  the 
royal  palace.  It  was  clear,  then,  that  the  portrait  must  have 
been  painted  between  1290  and  1302. 

Mr.  Wilde  now  revolved  in  his  own  mind  the  possibility 
that  this  precious  relic  might  remain  undestroyed  under  its 
coat  of  whitewash,  and  might  yet  be  restored  to  the  world. 
For  a  moment  he  felt  an  impulse  to  undertake  the  enterprise ; 
but  feared  that,  in  a  foreigner  from  a  new  world,  any  part  of 
which  is  unrepresented  at  the  Tuscan  court,  it  might  appear 
like  an  intrusion.  He  soon  however  found  a  zealous  coadjutor. 
This  was  one  Giovanni  Aubrey  Bezzi,  a  Piedmontese  exile, 
who  had  long  been  a  resident  in  England,  and  was  familiar 
with  its  language  and  literature.  He  was  now  on  a  visit  to 
Florence,  which  liberal  and  hospitable  city  is  always  open  to 


104  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

men  of  merit  who  for  political  reasons  have  heen  excluded 
from  other  parts  of  Italy.  Signer  Bezzi  partook  deeply  of  the 
enthusiasm  of  his  countrymen  for  the  memory  of  Dante,  and 
sympathized  with  Mr.  Wilde  in  his  eagerness  to  retrieve  if  pos- 
sible the  lost  portrait.  They  had  several  consultations  as  to 
the  means  to  be  adopted  to  effect  their  purpose,  without  in- 
curring the  charge  of  undue 'officiousness.  To  lessen  any  ob- 
jections that  might  occur,  they  resolved  to  ask  for  nothing  but 
permission  to  search  for  the  fresco  painting  at  their  own  ex- 
pense ;  and  should  any  remains  of  it  be  found,  then  to  propose 
to  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  Florence  an  association  for  the 
purpose  of  completing  the  undertaking,  and  effectually  recover- 
ing the  lost  portrait. 

For  the  same  reason  the  formal  memorial  addressed  to  the 
Grand  Duke  was  drawn  up  in  the  name  of  Florentines ;  among 
whom  were  the  celebrated  Bartolini,  now  President  of  the 
School  of  Sculpture  in  the  Imperial  and  Royal  Academy,  Sig- 
nor  Paolo  Ferroni,  of  the  noble  family  of  that  name,  who  has 
exhibited  considerable  talent  for  painting,  and  Signor  Gas- 
parini,  also  an  artist.  This  petition  was  urged  and  supported 
with  indefatigable  zeal  by  Signor  Bezzi;  and  being  warmly 
countenanced  by  Count  Nerli  and  other  functionaries,  met 
with  more  prompt  success  than  had  been  anticipated.  Signor 
Marini,  a  skilful  artist,  who  had  succeeded  in  similar  opera- 
tions, was  now  employed  to  remove  the  whitewash  by  a  pro- 
cess of  his  own,  by  which  any  fresco  painting  that  might  exist 
beneath  would  be  protected  from  injury.  He  set  to  work 
patiently  and  cautiously.  In  a  short  time  he  met  with  evi- 
dence of  the  existence  of  the  fresco.  From  under  the  coat 
of  whitewash  the  head  of  an  angel  gradually  made  its  appear- 
ance, and  was  pronounced  to  be  by  the  pencil  of  Giotto. 

The  enterprise  was  now  prosecuted  with  increased  ardor. 
Several  months  were  expended  on  the  task,  and  three  sides 
of  the  chapel  wall  were  uncovered ;  they  were  all  painted  in 
fresco  by  Giotto,  with  the  history  of  the  Magdalen,  exhibiting 
her  conversion,  her  penance,  and  her  beatification.  The  fig- 
ures, however,  were  all  those  of  saints  and  angels ;  no  histori- 
cal portraits  had  yet  been  discovered,  and  doubts  began  to 
be  entertained  whether  there  were  any.  Still  the  recovery 
of  an  indisputable  work  of  Giotto's  was  considered  an  ample 
reward  for  any  toil;  and  the  Ministers  of  the  Grand  Duke, 
acting  under  his  directions,  assumed  on  his  behalf  the  past 
charges  and  future  management  of  the  enterprise. 


AMERICAN  RESEARCHES  IN  ITALY.  1Q5 

At  length,  on  the  uncovering  of  the  fourth  wall,  the  under- 
taking was  crowned  with  complete  success.  A  number  of 
historical  figures  were  brought  to  light,  and  among  them  the 
undoubted  likeness  of  Dante.  He  was  represented  in  full 
length,  in  the  garb  of  the  time,  with  a  book  under  his  arm, 
designed  most  probably  to  represent  the  "Vita  Nuova,"  for 
the  "  Comedia"  was  not  yet  composed,  and  to  all  appearance 
from  thirty  to  thirty-five  years  of  age.  The  face  was  in  profile, 
and  in  excellent  preservation,  excepting  that  at  some  former 
period  a  nail  had  unfortunately  been  driven  into  the  eye.  The 
outline  of  the  eyelid  was  perfect,  so  that  the  injury  could 
easily  be  remedied.  The  countenance  was  extremely  hand- 
some, yet  bore  a  strong  resemblance  to  the  portraits  of  the 
poet  taken  later  in  life. 

It  is  not  easy  to  appreciate  the  delight  of  Mr.  Wilde  and  hifa 
coadjutors  at  this  triumphant  result  of  their  researches;  nor 
the  sensation  produced,  not  merely  in  Florence  but  throughout 
Italy,  by  this  discovery  of  a  veritable  portrait  of  Dante,  in  the 
prime  of  his  days.  It  was  some  such  sensation  as  would  be 
produced  in  England  by  the  sudden  discovery  of  a  perfectly 
well  authenticated  likeness  of  Shakespeare ;  with  a  difference 
in  intensity  proportioned  to  the  superior  sensitiveness  of  the 
Italians. 

The  recovery  of  this  portrait  of  the  "divine  poet"  has  occa- 
sioned fresh  inquiry  into  the  origin  of  the  masks  said  to  have 
been  made  from  a  cast  of  his  face  taken  after  death.  One  of 
these  masks,  in  the  possession  of  the  Marquess  of  Torrigiani, 
has  been  pronounced  as  certainly  the  original.  Several  artists 
of  high  talent  have  concurred  in  this  opinion;  among  these 
may  be  named  Jesi,  the  first  engraver  in  Florence ;  Seymour 
Kirkup,  Esq.,  a  painter  and  antiquary;  and  our  own  country- 
man Powers,  whose  genius,  by  the  way,  is  very  highly  appre- 
ciated by  the  Italians. 

We  may  expect  from  the  accomplished  pen  of  Carlo  Torrigi- 
ani, son  of  the  Marquess,  and  who  is  advantageously  known  in 
this  country,  from  having  travelled  here,  an  account  of  this 
curious  and  valuable  relic,  which  has  been  upward  of  a  century 
in  the  possession  of  his  family. 

Should  Mr.  Wilde  finish  his  biographical  work  concerning 
Dante,  which  promises  to  be  a  proud  achievement  in  American 
literature,  he  intends,  I  understand,  to  apply  for  permission  to 
have  both  likenesses  copied,  and  should  circumstances  warrant 
the  expense,  to  have  them  engraved  by  eminent  artists.  We 


106  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

shall  then  have  the  features  of  Dante  while  in  the  prime  of  life 
as  well  as  at  the  moment  of  his  death.  G.  C. 


THE  TAKING  OF  THE  VEIL. 

ONE  of  the  most  remarkable  personages  in  Parisian  society 
during  the  last  century  was  Renee  Charlotte  Victoire  de  Frou- 
lay  De  Tesse,  Marchioness  De  Crequi.  She  sprang  from  the 
highest  and  proudest  of  the  old  French  nobility,  and  ever 
maintained  the  most  exalted  notions  of  the  purity  and  anti- 
quity of  blood,  looking  upon  all  families  that  could  not  date 
back  further  than  three  or  four  hundred  years  as  mere  up- 
starts. When  a  beautiful  girl,  fourteen  years  of  age,  she  was 
presented  to  Louis  XIV.,  at  Versailles,  and  the  ancient  mon- 
arch kissed  her  hand  with  great  gallantry;  after  an  interval  of 
about  eighty-five  years,  when  nearly  a  hundred  years  old,  the 
same  testimonial  of  respect  was  paid  her  at  the  Tuileries  by 
Bonaparte,  then  First  Consul,  who  promised  her  the  restitution 
of  the  confiscated  forests  formerly  belonging  to  her  family. 
She  was  one  of  the  most  celebrated  women  of  her  tune  for  in- 
tellectual grace  and  superiority,  and  had  the  courage  to  remain 
at  Paris  and  brave  all  the  horrors  of  the  revolution,  which  laid 
waste  the  aristocratical  world  around  her. 

The  memoirs  she  has  left  behind  abound  with  curious  anec- 
dotes and  vivid  pictures  of  Parisian  lif  e  during  the  latter  days 
of  Louis  XIV.,  the  regency  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  and  the 
residue  of  the  last  century ;  and  are  highly  illustrative  of  the 
pride,  splendor,  and  licentiousness  of  the  French  nobility  on 
the  very  eve  of  their  tremendous  downfall. 

I  shall  draw  forth  a  few  scenes  from  her  memoirs,  taken 
almost  at  random,  and  which,  though  given  as  actual  and  well- 
known  circumstances,  have  quite  the  air  of  romance. 


All  the  great  world  of  Paris  were  invited  to  be  present  at  a 
grand  ceremonial,  to  take  place  in  the  church  of  the  Abbey 
Royal  of  Panthemont.  Henrietta  de  Lenoncour,  a  young  girl, 
of  a  noble  family,  of  great  beauty,  and  heiress  to  immense 
estates,  was  to  take  the  black  veil.  Invitations  had  been  issued 
in  grand  form,  by  her  aunt  and  guardian,  the  Countess  Brigitte 


THE  TAKING   OF  THE  VEIL.  1Q7 

de  Rupelmonde,  canoness  of  Mauberge.  The  circumstance 
caused  great  talk  aud  wonder  in  the  fashionable  circles  of 
Paris ;  everybody  was  at  a  loss  to  imagine  why  a  young  girl, 
beautiful  and  rich,  in  the  very  springtime  of  her  charms, 
should  renounce  a  world  which  she  was  so  eminently  qualified 
to  embellish  and  enjoy. 

A  lady  of  high  rank,  who  visited  the  beautiful  novice  at  the 
grate  of  her  convent-parlor,  got  a  clue  to  the  mystery.  She 
found  her  in  great  agitation ;  for  a  time  she  evidently  repressed 
her  feelings,  but  they  at  length  broke  forth  in  passionate  ex- 
clamations. "Heaven  grant  me  grace,"  said  she,  "some  day 
or  other  to  pardon  my  cousin  Gondrecourt  the  sorrows  he  has 
caused  me !" 

"What  do  you  mean?— what  sorrows,  my  child?"  inquired 
her  visitor.  "  What  has  your  cousin  done  to  affect  you?" 

" He  is  married!"  cried  she  in  accents  of  despaii,  but  endea- 
voring to  repress  her  sobs. 

"  Married !  I  have  heard  nothing  of  the  kind,  my  dear.  Are 
you  perfectly  sure  of  it?" 

"Alas !  nothing  is  more  certain;  my  aunt  de  Rupelmonde  in- 
formed me  of  it." 

The  lady  retired,  full  of  surprise  and  commiseration.  She 
related  the  scene  in  a  circle  of  the  highest  nobility,  in  the 
saloon  of  the  Marshal  Prince  of  Beauvau,  where  the  unac- 
countable self-sacrifice  of  the  beautiful  novice  was  under 
discussion. 

"Alas!"  said  she,  "the  poor  girl  is  crossed  in  love;  she  is 
about  to  renounce  the  world  hi  despair,  at  the  marriage  of  her 
cousin  De  Gondrecourt." 

"What!"  cried  a  gentleman  present,  "the  Viscount  de 
Gondrecourt  married!  Never  was  there  a  greater  falsehood. 
And  '  her  aunt  told  her  so ! '  Oh !  I  understand  the  plot.  The 
countess  is  passionately  fond  of  Gondrecourt,  and  jealous  of 
her  beautiful. niece;  but  her  schemes  are  vain;  the  Viscount 
holds  her  in  perfect  detestation." 

There  was  a  mingled  expression  of  ridicule,  disgust,  and 
indignation  at  the  thought  of  such  a  rivalry.  The  Countess 
Rupelmonde  was  old  enough  to  be  the  grandmother  of  the 
Viscount.  She  was  a  woman  of  violent  passions,  and  imperi- 
ous temper;  robust  in  person,  with  a  masculine  voice,  a  dusky 
complexion,  green  eyes,  and  powerful  eyebrows. 

"  It  is  impossible,"  cried  one  of  the  company,  "  that  a  woman 
of  the  countess'  age  and  appearance  can  be  guilty  of  such 


108  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

folly.  No,  no ;  you  mistake  the  aim  of  this  detestable  woman. 
She  is  managing  to  get  possession  of  the  estate  of  her  lovely 
niece." 

This  was  admitted  to  be  the  most  probable;  and  all  concurred 
in  believing  the  countess  to  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  intended 
sacrifice;  for  although  a  canoness,  a  dignitary  of  a  religious 
order,  she  was  pronounced  little  better  than  a  devil  incarnate. 

The  Princess  de  Beauvau,  a  woman  of  generous  spirit  and 
intrepid  zeal,  suddenly  rose  from  the  chair  in  which  she  had 
been  reclining.  "My  prince,"  said  she,  addressing  her  hus- 
band, "if  you  approve  of  it,  I  will  go  immediately  and  have  a 
conversation  on  this  subject  with  the  archbishop.  There  is  not 
a  moment  to  spare.  It  is  now  past  midnight ;  the  ceremony  is 
to  take  place  in  the  morning.  A  few  hours  and  the  irrevocable 
vows  will  be  pronounced." 

The  prince  inclined  his  head  in  respectful  assent.  The 
princess  set  about  her  generous  enterprise  with  a  woman's 
promptness.  Within  a  short  time  her  carriage  was  at  the  iron 
gate  of  the  archiepiscopal  palace,  and  her  servants  rang  for 
admission.  Two  Switzers,  who  had  charge  of  the  gate,  were 
fast  asleep  in  the  porter's  lodge,  for  it  was  half -past  two  in  the 
morning.  It  was  some  time  before  they  could  be  awakened, 
and  longer  before  they  could  be  made  to  come  forth. 

"  The  Princess  de  Beauvau  is  at  the  gate !" 

Such  a  personage  was  not  to  be  received  in  deshabille.  Her 
dignity  and  the  dignity  of  the  archbishop  demanded  that  the 
gate  should  be  served  in  full  costume.  For  half  an  hour,  there- 
fore, had  the  princess  to  wait,  in  feverish  impatience,  until  the 
two  dignitaries  of  the  porter's  lodge  arrayed  themselves ;  and 
three  o'clock  sounded  from  the  tower  of  Notre  Dame  before 
they  came  forth.  They  were  in  grand  livery,  of  a  buff  color, 
with  amaranth  galloons,  plaited  with  silver,  and  fringed  sword- 
belts  reaching  to  their  knees,  in  which  were  suspended  long 
rapiers.  They  had  small  three-cornered  hats,  surmounted 
with  plumes;  and  each  bore  in  his  hand  a  halbert.  Thus 
equipped  at  all  points,  they  planted  themselves  before  the  door 
of  the  carriage ;  struck  the  ends  of  their  halberts  on  the  ground 
with  emphasis;  and  stood  waiting  with  official  importance, 
but  profound  respect,  to  know  the  pleasure  of  the  princess. 

She  demanded  to  speak  with  the  archbishop.  A  most  rever- 
ential bow  and  shrug  accompanied  the  reply,  that  "  His  Gran- 
deur was  not  at  home. " 

Not  at  home!    Where-  was  he  to  be  found?    Another  bow 


THE  TAKING   OF  THE   VEIL.  109 

and  shrug:  "His  Grandeur  either  was,  or  ought  to  be,  in 
retirement  in  the  seminary  of  St.  Magloire ;  unless  he  had  gone 
to  pass  the  Fete  of  St.  Bruno  with  the  reverend  Carthusian 
Fathers  of  the  Rue  d'Enf er ;  or  perhaps  he  might  have  gone  to 
repose  himself  in  his  castle  of  Conflans-sur-Seine.  Though,  on 
further  thought,  it  was  not  unlikely  he  might  have  gone  to 
sleep  at  St.  Cyr,  where  the  Bishop  of  Chartres  never  failed 
to  invite  him  for  the  anniversary  soiree  of  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon. 

The  princess  was  in  despair  at  this  multiplicity  of  cross- 
roads pointed  out  for  the  chase ;  the  brief  interval  of  time  was 
rapidly  elapsing;  day  already  began  to  dawn;  she  saw  there 
was  no  hope  of  finding  the  archbishop  before  the  moment  of 
his  entrance  into  the  church  for  the  morning's  ceremony ;  so 
she  returned  home  quite  distressed. 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  princess  was  in  the 
parlor  of  the  monastery  of  De  Panthemont,  and  sent  in  an 
urgent  request  for  a  moment's  conversation  with  the  Lady 
Abbess.  The  reply  brought  was,  that  the  Abbess  could  not 
come  to  the  parlor,  being  obliged  to  attend  to  the  choir,  at  the 
canonical  hours.  The  princess  entreated  permission  to  enter 
the  convent,  to  reveal  to  the  Lady  Abbess  in  two  words  some- 
thing of  the  greatest  importance.  The  Abbess  sent  word  in 
reply,  that  the  thing  was  impossible,  until  she  had  obtained 
permission  from  the  Archbishop  of  Paris.  The  princess 
retired  once  more  to  her  carriage,  and  now,  as  a  forlorn  hope, 
took  her  station  at  the  door  of  the  church,  to  watch  for  the 
arrival  of  the  prelate. 

After  a  while  the  splendid  company  invited  to  this  great 
ceremony  began  to  arrive.  The  beauty,  rank,  and  wealth  of 
the  novice  had  excited  great  attention ;  and,  as  everybody  was 
expected  to  be  present  on  the  occasion,  everybody  pressed  to 
secure  a  place.  The  street  reverberated  with  the  continual  roll 
of  gilded  carriages  and  chariots ;  coaches  of  princes  and  dukes, 
designated  by  imperials  of  crimson  velvet,  and  magnificent 
equipages  of  six  horses,  decked  out  with  nodding  plumes  and 
sumptuous  harnessing.  At  length  the  equipages  ceased  to 
arrive ;  empty  vehicles  filled  the  street ;  and,  with  a  noisy  and 
parti-colored  crowd  of  lacqueys  in  rich  liveries,  obstructed  all 
the  entrances  to  De  Panthemont. 

Eleven  o'clock  had  struck ;  the  last  auditor  had  entered  the 
church;  the  deep  tones  of  the  organ  began  to  swell  through  the 
sacred  pile,  yet  still  the  archbishop  came  not!  The  heart  of 


110  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

the  princess  beat  quicker  and  quicker  with  vague  apprehension; 
when  a  valet,  dressed  in  cloth  of  silver,  trimmed  with  crimson 
velvet,  approached  her  carriage  precipitately.  "Madame," 
said  he,  "the  archbishop  is  in  the  church;  he  entered  by  the 
portal  of  the  cloister;  he  is  already  in  the  sanctuary;  the  cere- 
mony is  about  to  commence !" 

What  was  to  be  done?  To  speak  with  the  archbishop  was 
now  impossible,  and  yet  on  the  revelation  she  was  to  make 
to  him  depended  the  fate  of  the  lovely  novice.  The  princess 
drew  forth  her  tablets  of  enamelled  gold,  wrote  a  few  lines 
therein  with  a  pencil,  and  ordered  her  lacquey  to  make  way  for 
her  through  the  crowd,  and  conduct  her  with  all  speed  to  the 
sacristy. 

The  description  given  of  the  church  and  the  assemblage  on 
this  occasion  presents  an  idea  of  the  aristocratical  state  of  the 
times,  and  of  the  high  interest  awakened  by  the  affecting 
sacrifice  about  to  take  place.  The  church  was  hung  with 
superb  tapestry,  above  which  extended  a  band  of  white  damask, 
fringed  with  gold,  and  covered  with  armorial  escutcheons. 
A  large  pennon,  emblazoned  with  the  arms  and  alliances  of  the 
high-born  damsel,  was  suspended,  according  to  custom,  in 
place  of  the  lamp  of  the  sanctuary.  The  lustres,  girandoles, 
and  candelabras  of  the  king  had  been  furnished  in  profusion, 
to  decorate  the  sacred  edifice,  and  the  pavements  were  all 
covered  with  rich  carpets. 

The  sanctuary  presented  a  reverend  and  august  assemblage 
of  bishops,  canons,  and  monks  of  various  orders,  Benedic- 
tines, Bernardines,  Raccollets,  Capuchins,  and  others,  all  in 
their  appropriate  robes  and  dresses.  In  the  midst  presided  the 
Archbishop  of  Paris,  Christopher  de  Beaumont ;  surrounded  by 
his  four  arch  priests  and  his  vicars-general.  He  was  seated  with 
his  back  against  the  altar.  When  his  eyes  were  cast  down,  his 
countenance,  pale  and  severe,  is  represented  as  having  been 
somewhat  sepulchral  and  death-like ;  but  the  moment  he  raised 
his  large,  dark,  sparkling  eyes,  the  whole  became  animated; 
boaming  with  ardor,  and  expressive  of  energy,  penetration,  and 
firmness. 

The  audience  that  crowded  the  church  was  no  less  illustrious. 
Excepting  the  royal  family,  all  that  was  elevated  in  rank  and 
title  was  there ;  never  had  a  ceremonial  of  the  kind  attracted 
an  equal  concourse  of  the  high  aristocracy  of  Paris. 

At  length  the  grated  gates  of  the  choir  creaked  on  their 
hinges,  and  Madame  de  Richelieu,  the  high  and  noble  Abbess 


THE  TAKING   OF  THE  VEIL.  \\\ 

of  De  Panthemont,  advanced  to  resign  the  novice  into  the 
hands  of  her  aunt,  the  Countess  Canoness  de  Rupelmonde. 
Every  eye  was  turned  with  intense  curiosity  to  gain  a  sight  of 
the  beautiful  victim.  She  was  sumptuously  dressed,  but  her 
paleness  and  languor  accorded  but  little  with  her  brilliant  attire. 
The  Canoness  De  Eupelmonde  conducted  her  niece  to  her  pray- 
ing-desk, where,  as  soon  as  the  poor  girl  knelt  down,  she  sank 
as  if  exhausted.  Just  then  a  sort  of  murmur  was  heard  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  church,  where  the  servants  in  livery  were 
gathered.  A  young  man  was  borne  forth,  struggling  in  con- 
vulsions. He  was  in  the  uniform  of  an  officer  of  the  guards  of 
King  Stanislaus,  Duke  of  Lorraine.  A  whisper  circulated  that 
it  was  the  young  Viscount  de  Gondrecourt,  and  that  he  was  a 
lover  of  the  novice.  Almost  all  the  young  nobles  present 
hurried  forth  to  proffer  him  sympathy  and  assistance. 

The  Archbishop  of  Paris  remained  all  this  time  seated  before 
the  altar ;  his  eyes  cast  down,  his  pallid  countenance  giving  no 
signs  of  interest  or  participation  in  the  scene  around  him.  It 
was  noticed  that  in  one  of  his  hands,  which  was  covered  with 
a  violet  glove.  >»e  grasped  firmly  a  pair  of  tablets,  of  enamelled 
gold. 

The  Canoness  De  Rupelmonde  conducted  her  niece  to  the 
prelate,  to  make  her  profession  of  self-devotion,  and  to  utter 
the  irrevocable  vow.  As  the  lovely  novice  knelt  at  his  feet, 
the  archbishop  fixed  on  her  his  dark,  beaming  eyes,  with  a  kind 
but  earnest  expression.  "Sister! "said  he,  in  the  softest  and 
most  benevolent  tone  of  voice,  "what  is  your  age?" 

"Nineteen  years,  Monsigneur,"  eagerly  interposed  the  Coun- 
tess de  Rupelmonde. 

"  You  will  reply  to  me  by  and  bye,  Madame,"  said  the  arch- 
bishop, dryly.  He  then  repeated  his  question  to  the  novice, 
who  replied  in  a  faltering  voice,  "Seventeen  years." 

"In  what  diocese  did  you  take  the  white  veil?" 

"  In  the  diocese  of  Toul." 

"How!"  exclaimed  the  archbishop,  vehemently.  "In  the 
diocese  of  Toul?  The  chair  of  Toul  is  vacant!  The  Bishop  of 
Toul  died  fifteen  months  since ;  and  those  who  officiate  in  the 
chapter  are  not  authorized  to  receive  novices.  Your  noviciate, 
Mademoiselle,  is  null  and  void,  and  we  cannot  receive  your 
profession." 

The  archbishop  rose  from  his  chair,  resumed  his  mitre,  and 
took  the  crozier  from  the  hands  of  an  attendant. 

' '  My  dear  brethren, "  said  jie,  addressing  the  assembly,  ' '  there 


112  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

is  no  necessity  for  our  examining  and  interrogating  Mademoi- 
selle de  Lenoncour  on  the  sincerity  of  her  religious  vocation. 
There  is  a  canonical  impediment  to  her  professing  for  the  pres- 
ent; and,  as  to  the  future,  we  reserve  to  ourselves  the  con- 
sideration of  the  matter;  interdicting  to  all  other  ecclesiastical 
persons  the  power  of  accepting  her  vows,  under  penalty  of  in- 
terdiction, of  suspension,  and  of  nullification ;  all  which  is  in 
virtue  of  our  metropolitan  rights,  contained  in  the  terms  of  the 
bull  cum  proximis:"  "Adjutorium  nostrum  in  nomine  Do- 
mini!" pursued  he,  chanting  in  a  grave  and  solemn  voice,  and 
turning  toward  the  altar  to  give  the  benediction  of  the  holy 
sacrament. 

The  noble  auditory  had  that  habitude  of  reserve,  that  empire, 
or  rather  tyranny,  over  all  outward  manifestations  of  internal 
emotions,  which  belongs  to  high  aristocratical  breeding.  The 
declaration  of  the  archbishop,  therefore,  was  received  as  one 
of  the  most  natural  and  ordinary  things  in  the  world,  and  all 
knelt  down  and  received  the  pontifical  benediction  with  perfect 
decorum.  As  soon,  however,  as  they  were  released  from  the 
self-restraint  imposed  by  etiquette,  they  amply  indemnified 
themselves;  and  nothing  was  talked  of  for  a  month,  in  the 
fashionable  saloons  of  Paris,  but  the  loves  of  the  handsome 
Viscount  and  the  charming  Henrietta;  the  wickedness  of  the 
canoness ;  the  active  benevolence  and  admirable  address  of  the 
Princess  de  Beauvau ;  and  the  great  wisdom  of  the  archbishop, 
who  was  particularly  extolled  for  his  delicacy  in  defeating  this 
manoeuvre  without  any  scandal  to  the  aristocracy,  or  public 
stigma  on  the  name  of  De  Kupelmonde,  and  without  any  de- 
parture from  pastoral  gentleness,  by  adroitly  seizing  upon  an 
informality,  and  turning  it  to  beneficial  account,  with  as  much 
authority  as  charitable  circumspection. 

As  to  the  Canoness  de  Eupelmonde,  she  was  defeated  at  all 
points  in  her  wicked  plans  against  her  beautiful  niece.  In 
consequence  of  the  caveat  of  the  archishop,  her  superior 
ecclesiastic,  the  Abbess  de  Panthemont,  formally  forbade  Ma- 
demoiselle de  Lenoncour  to  resume  the  white  veil  and  the  dress 
of  a  noviciate,  and  instead  of  a  novice's  cell,  established  her  in 
a  beautiful  apartment  as  a  boarder.  The  next  morning  the 
Canoness  de  Rupelmonde  called  at  the  convent  to  take  away 
her  niece ;  but,  to  her  confusion,  the  abbess  produced  a  lettre- 
de-cachet,  which  she  had  just  received,  and  which  forbade 
Mademoiselle  to  leave  the  corn-cat  with  any  other  person  save 
the  Prince  de  Beauvau. 


THE  TAKING   OF  THE  VEIL.  H3 

Under  the  auspices  and  the  vigilant  attention  of  the  prince, 
the  whole  affair  was  wound  up  in  the  most  technical  and  cir- 
cumstantial manner.  The  Countess  de  Rupelmonde,  by  a 
decree  of  the  Grand  Council,  was  divested  of  the  guardianship 
of  her  niece.  All  the  arrears  of  revenues  accumulated  during 
Mademoiselle  de  Lenoncour's  minority  were  rigorously  col- 
lected, the  accounts  scrutinized  and  adjusted,  and  her  noble 
fortune  placed  safely  and  entirely  in  her  hands. 

In  a  little  while  the  noble  personages  who  had  been  invited 
to  the  ceremony  of  taking  the  veil  received  another  invitation, 
on  the  part  of  the  Countess  dowager  de  Gondrecourt,  and  the 
Marshal  Prince  de  Beauvau,  to  attend  the  marriage  of  Adrien 
de  Gondrecourt,  Viscount  of  Jean-sur-Moselle,  and  Henrietta 
de  Lenoncour,  Countess  de  Hevouwal,  etc.,  which  duly  took 
place  in  the  chapel  of  the  archiepiscopal  palace  at  Paris. 


So  much  for  the  beautiful  Henrietta  de  Lenoncour.  We  wiU 
now  draw  forth  a  companion  picture  of  a  handsome  young 
cavalier,  who  figured  in  the  gay  world  of  Paris  about  the  same 
time,  and  concerning  whom  the  ancient  Marchioness  writes 
with  the  lingering  feeling  of  youthful  romance. 

THE  CHARMING  LETORIERE8. 

"A  GOOD  face  is  a  letter  of  recommendation,"  says  an  old 
proverb ;  and  it  was  never  more  verified  than  in  the  case  of 
the  Chevalier  Letorieres.  He  was  a  young  gentleman  of  good 
family,  but  who,  according  to  the  Spanish  phrase,  had  nothing 
but  his  cloak  and  sword  (capa  y  espada),  that  is  to  say,  his 
gentle  blood  and  gallant  bearing,  to  help  him  forward  in  the 
world.  Through  the  interest  of  an  uncle,  who  was  an  abbe,  he 
received  a  gratuitous  education  at  a  fashionable  college,  but 
finding  the  terms  of  study  too  long,  and  the  vacations  too 
short,  for  his  gay  and  indolent  temper,  he  left  college  without 
saying  a  word,  and  launched  himself  upon  Paris,  with  a  light 
heart  and  still  lighter  pocket.  Here  he  led  a  life  to  his  humor. 
It  is  true  he  had  to  make  scanty  meals,  and  to  lodge  in  a  garret ; 
but  what  of  that?  He  was  his  own  master;  free  from  all  task 
or  restraint.  When  cold  or  hungry,  he  sallied  forth,  like 
others  of  the  chameleon  order,  and  banqueted  on  pure  air  and 
warm  sunshine  in  the  public  walks  and  gardens ;  drove  off  the 
thoughts  of  a  dinner  by  amusing  himself  with  the  gay  and  gro 


114  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

tesque  throngs  of  the  metropolis ;  and  if  one  of  the  poorest,  was 
one  of  the  merriest  gentlemen  upon  town.  Wherever  he  went 
his  good  looks  and  frank,  graceful  demeanor,  had  an  instant 
and  magical  effect  in  securing  favor.  There  was  but  one 
word  to  express  his  fascinating  powers— he  was  "charm- 
ing." 

Instances  are  given  of  the  effect  of  his  winning  qualities  upon 
minds  of  coarse,  ordinary  mould.  He  had  once  taken  shelter 
from  a  heavy  shower  under  a  gateway.  A  hackney  coachman, 
who  was  passing  by,  pulled  up,  and  asked  him  if  he  wished  a 
cast  in  his  carriage.  Letorieres  declined,  with  a  melancholy 
and  dubious  shake  of  the  head.  The  coachman  regarded  him 
wistfully,  repeated  his  solicitations,  and  wished  to  know  what 
place  he  was  going  to.  "To  the  Palace  of  Justice,  to  walk  in 
the  galleries;  but  I  will  wait  here  until  the  rain  is  over." 

"And  why  so?"  inquired  the- coachman,  pertinaciously. 

"  Because  I've  no  money;  do  let  me  be  quiet." 

The  coachman  jumped  down,  and  opening  the  door  of  his 
carriage,  "It  shall  never  be  said,"  cried  he,  "that  I  left  so 
charming  a  young  gentleman  to  weary  himself,  and  catch 
cold,  merely  for  the  sake  of  twenty-four  sous." 

Arrived  at  the  Palace  of  Justice,  he  stopped  before  the  saloon 
of  a  famous  restaurateur,  opened  the  door  of  the  carriage, 
and  taking  off  his  hat  very  respectfully,  begged  the  youth  to 
accept  of  a  Louis-d'or.  "You  will  meet  with  some  young  gen- 
tlemen within,"  said  he,  "with  whom  you  may  wish  to  take  a 
hand  at  cards.  The  number  of  my  coach  is  144.  You  can  find 
me  out,  and  repay  me  whenever  you  please." 

The  worthy  Jehu  was  some  years  afterward  made  coachman 
to  the  Princess  Sophia,  of  France,  through  the  recommenda- 
tion of  the  handsome  youth  he  had  so  generously  obliged. 

Another  instance  in  point  is  given  with  respect  to  his  tailor,  to 
whom  he  owed  four  hundred  livres.  The  tailor  had  repeatedly 
dunned  him,  but  was  always  put  off  with  the  best  grace  in  the 
world.  The  wife  of  the  tailor  urged  her  husband  to  assume  a 
harsher  tone.  He  replied  that  he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart 
to  speak  roughly  to  so  charming  a  young  gentleman. 

" I've  no  patience  with  such  want  of  spirit!"  cried  the  wife, 
" you  have  not  the  courage  to  show  your  teeth:  but  I'm  going 
out  to  get  change  for  this  note  of  a  hundred  crowns ;  before  I 
come  home,  I'll  seek  this  '  charming '  youth  myself,  and  see 
whether  he  has  the  power  to  charm  me.  I'll  warrant  he 
won't  be  able  to  put  me  off  with  fine  looks  and  fine  speeches." 


THE  TAKING  OF  TEE  VEIL.  115 

With  these  and  many  more  vaunts,  the  good  dame  sallied 
forth.  When  she  returned  home,  however,  she  wore  quite  a 
different  aspect. 

"Well,  "said  her  husband,  "how  much  have  you  received 
from  the  '  charming '  young  man?" 

"  Let  me  alone,"  replied  the  wife;  "  I  found  him  playing  on 
the  guitar,  and  he  looked  so  handsome,  and  was  so  amiable 
and  genteel,  that  I  had  not  the  heart  to  trouble  him." 

"And  the  change  for  the  hundred-crown  note?"  said  the 
tailor. 

The  wife  hesitated  a  moment:  "Faith,"  cried  she,  "you'll 
have  to  add  the  amount  to  your  next  bill  against  him.  The 
poor  young  gentleman  had  such  a  melancholy  air,  that — I  know 
not  how  it  was,  but  —I  left  the  hundred  crowns  on  his  mantel- 
piece in  spite  of  him !" 

The  captivating  looks  and  manners  of  Letorieres  made  his 
way  with  equal  facility  in  the  great  world.  His  high  connec- 
tions entitled  him  to  presentation  at  court,  but  some  questions 
arose  about  the  sufficiency  of  his  proofs  of  nobility ;  whereupon 
the  king,  who  had  seen  him  walking  in  the  gardens  of  Ver- 
sailles, and  had  been  charmed  with  his  appearance,  put  an  end 
to  all  demurs  of  etiquette  by  making  him  a  viscount. 

The  same  kind  of  fascination  is  said  to  have  attended  him 
throughout  his  career.  He  succeeded  in  various  difficult  fam- 
ily suits  on  questions  of  honors  and  privileges ;  he  had  merely 
to  appear  in  court  to  dispose  the  judges  in  his  favor.  He  at 
length  became  so  popular,  that  on  one  occasion,  when  he 
appeared  at  the  theatre  on  recovering  from  a  wound  received 
in  a  duel,  the  audience  applauded  him  on  his  entrance.  Noth- 
ing, it  is  said,  could  have  been  in  more  perfect  good  taste  and 
high  breeding  than  his  conduct  on  this  occasion.  When  he 
heard  the  applause,  he  rose  in  his  box,  stepped  forward,  and 
surveyed  both  sides  of  the  house,  as  if  he  could  not  believe 
that  it  was  himself  they  were  treating  like  a  favorite  actor,  or 
a  prince  of  the  blood. 

His  success  with  the  fair  sex  may  easily  be  presumed;  but 
he  had  too  much  honor  and  sensibility  to  render  his  inter- 
course with  them  a  series  of  cold  gallantries  and  heartless  tri- 
umphs. In  the  course  of  his  attendance  upon  court,  where  he 
held  a  post  of  honor  about  the  king,  he  fell  deeply  in  love  with 
the  beautiful  Princess  Julia,  of  Savoy  Carignan.  She  was 
young,  tender,  and  simple-hearted,  and  returned  his  love  with 
equal  fervor.  Her  family  took  the  alarm  at  this  attachment 


116  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

and  procured  an  order  that  she  should  inhabit  the  Abbey  of 
Montmartre,  where  she  was  treated  with  all  befitting  delicacy 
and  distinction,  but  not  permitted  to  go  beyond  the  convent 
walls.  The  lovers  found  means  to  correspond.  One  of  theii 
letters  was  intercepted,  and  it  is  even  hinted  that  a  plan  ot 
elopement  was  discovered.  A  duel  was  the  consequence,  with 
one  of  the  fiery  relations  of  the  princess.  Letorieres  received 
two  sword-thrusts  in  his  right  side.  His  wounds  were  serious, 
yet  after  two  or  three  days'  confinement  he  could  not  resist  his 
impatience  to  see  the  princess.  He  succeeded  in  scaling  the 
walls  of  the  abbey,  and  obtaining  an  interview  in  an  arcade 
leading  to  the  cloister  of  the  cemetery.  The  interview  of  the 
lovers  was  long  and  tender.  They  exchanged  vows  of  eternal 
fidelity,  and  flattered  themselves  with  hopes  of  future  happi- 
ness, which  they  were  never  to  realize.  After  repeated  fare- 
wells, the  princess  re-entered  the  convent,  never  again  to 
behold  the  charming  Letorieres.  On  the  following  morning 
his  corpse  was  found  stiff  and  cold  on  the  pavement  of  the 
cloister ! 

It  would  seem  that  the  wounds  of  the  unfortunate  youth  had 
been  reopened  by  his  efforts  to  get  over  the  wall;  that  he  had 
refrained  from  calling  assistance,  lest  he  should  expose  the 
princess,  and  that  he  had  bled  to  death,  without  any  one  to  aid 
him,  or  to  close  his  dying  eyes. 


THE  EAELY  EXPEEIENCES  OF  EALPH  RINGWOOD.* 

NOTED  DOWN  FROM  HIS  CONVERSATIONS. 

"  I  AM  a  Kentuckian  by  residence  and  choice,  but  a  Virginian 
by  birth.  The  cause  of  my  first  leaving  the  '  Ancient  Domin- 
ion,' and  emigrating  to  Kentucky,  was  a  jackass!  You  stare, 
but  have  a  little  patience,  and  I'll  soon  show  you  ho\y  it  came 
to  pass.  My  father,  who  was  of  one  of  the  old  Virginian 
families,  resided  in  Richmond.  He  was  a  widower,  and  his 

*  Ralph  Ringwood,  though  a  fictitious  name,  is  a  real  personage:  the  worthy 
original  is  now  living  and  flourishing  in  honorable  station.  I  have  given  some 
anecdotes  of  his  early  and  eccentric  career  in,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect,  the  very 
words  in  which  he  related  them.  They  certainly  afforded  strong  temptations  to 
the  embellishments  of  fiction ;  but  I  thought  them  so  strikingly  characteristic  of  the 
Individual,  and  of  the  scenes  and  society  Into  which  his  peculiar  humors  carried 
him,  that  I  preferred  giving  them  in  their  original  simplicity.— G.  C. 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.    H7 

domestic  affairs  were  managed  by  a  housekeeper  of  the  old 
school,  such  as  used  to  administer  the  concerns  of  opulent  Vu> 
ginian  households.  She  was  a  dignitary  that  almost  rivalled 
my  father  in  importance,  and  seemed  to  think  everything  be> 
longed  to  her ;  in  fact,  she  was  so  considerate  in  her  economy, 
and  so  careful  of  expense,  as  sometimes  to  vex  my  father,  who 
would  swear  she  was  disgracing  him  by  her  meanness.  She 
always  appeared  with  that  ancient  insignia  of  housekeeping 
trust  and  authority,  a  great  bunch  of  keys  jingling  at  her 
girdle.  She  superintended  the  arrangements  of  the  table  at 
every  meal,  and  saw  that  the  dishes  were  all  placed  according 
to  her  primitive  notions  of  symmetry.  In  the  evening  she 
took  her  stand  and  served  out  tea  with  a  mingled  respectful- 
ness and  pride  of  station,  truly  exemplary.  Her  great 
ambition  was  to  have  everything  in  order,  and  that  the  estab- 
lishment under  her  sway  should  be  cited  as  a  model  of  good 
housekeeping.  If  anything  went  wrong,  poor  old  Barbara 
would  take  it  to  heart,  and  sit  in  her  room  and  cry ;  until  a 
few  chapters  in  the  Bible  would  quiet  her  spirits,  and  make  all 
calm  again.  The  Bible,  in  fact,  was  her  constant  resort  in  time 
of  trouble.  She  opened  it  indiscriminately,  and  whether  she 
chanced  among  the  lamentations  of  Jeremiah,  the  Canticles  of 
Solomon,  or  the  rough  enumeration  of  the  tribes  in  Deuter- 
onomy, a  chapter  was  a  chapter,  and  operated  like  balm  to  her 
soul.  Such  was  our  good  old  housekeeper  Barbara,  who  was 
destined,  unwittingly,  to  have  a  most  important  effect  upon 
my  destiny. 

"It  came  to  pass,  during  the  days  of  my  juvenility,  while  I 
was  yet  what  is  termed  '  an  unlucky  boy,'  that  a  gentleman  of 
our  neighborhood,  a  great  advocate  for  experiments  and  im- 
provements of  all  kinds,  took  it  into  his  head  that  it  would  be 
an  immense  public  advantage  to  introduce  a  breed  of  mules, 
and  accordingly  imported  three  jacks  to  stock  the  neighbor- 
hood. This  in  a  part  of  the  country  where  the  people  cared 
for  nothing  but  blood  horses !  Why,  sir  I  they  would  have  con- 
sidered their  mares  disgraced  and  their  whole  stud  dishonored 
by  such  a  misalliance.  The  whole  matter  was  a  town  talk  and 
a  town  scandal.  The  worthy  amalgamator  of  quadrupeds 
found  himself  in  a  dismal  scrape;  so  he  backed  out  in  time, 
abjured  the  whole  doctrine  of  amalgamation,  and  turned  his 
jacks  loose  to  shift  for  themselves  upon  the  town  common. 
There  they  used  to  run  about  and  lead  an  idle,  good-for- 
nothing,  holiday  life,  the  happiest  animals  in  the  country. 


118  $B&  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

"It  so  happened  that  my  way  to  school  lay  across  thifl 
common.  The  first  time  that  I  saw  one  of  these  animals  it  set 
up  a  braying  and  frightened  me  confoundedly.  However,  I 
soon  got  over  my  fright,  and  seeing  that  it  had  something  of 
a  horse  look,  my  Virginian  love  for  anything  of  the  equestrian 
species  predominated,  and  I  determined  to  back  it.  I  accord- 
ingly applied  at  a  grocer's  shop,  procured  a  cord  that  had  been 
round  a  loaf  of  sugar,  and  made  a  kind  of  halter;  then  sum- 
moning some  of  my  school-fellows,  we  drove  master  Jack 
about  the  common  until  we  hemmed  him  in  an  angle  of  a 
'worm  fence.'  After  some  difficulty,  we  fixed  the  halter 
round  his  muzzle,  and  I  mounted.  Up  flew  his  heels,  away  I 
went  over  his  head,  and  off  he  scampered.  However,  I  was  on 
my  legs  in  a  twinkling,  gave  chase,  caught  him,  and  remounted. 
By  dint  of  repeated  tumbles  I  soon  learned  to  stick  to  his  back, 
so  that  he  could  no  more  cast  me  than  he  could  his  own  skin. 
From  that  time,  master  Jack  and  his  companions  had  a  scam- 
pering life  of  it,  for  we  all  rode  them  between  school  hours, 
and  on  holiday  afternoons ;  and  you  may  be  sure  school-boys' 
nags  are  never  permitted  to  suffer  the  grass  to  grow  under 
their  feet.  They  soon  became  so  knowing  that  they  took  to 
their  heels  at  the  very  sight  of  a  school-boy;  and  we  were 
generally  much  longer  in  chasing  than  we  were  in  riding  them. 

"Sunday  approached,  on  which  I  projected  an  equestrian 
excursion  on  one  of  these  long-eared  steeds.  As  I  knew  the 
jacks  would  be  in  great  demand  on  Sunday  morning,  I  secured 
one  over  night,  and  conducted  him  home,  to  be  ready  for  an 
early  outset.  But  where  was  I  to  quarter  him  for  the  night? 
I  could  not  put  him  in  the  stable ;  our  old  black  groom  George 
was  as  absolute  in  that  domain  as  Barbara  was  within  doors, 
and  would  have  thought  his  stable,  his  horses,  and  himself  dis- 
graced, by  the  introduction  of  a  jackass.  I  recollected  the 
smoke-house ;  an  out-building  appended  to  all  Virginian  estab- 
lishments for  the  smoking  of  hams,  and  other  kinds  of  meat. 
So  I  got  the  key,  put  master  Jack  in,  locked  the  door,  returned 
the  key  to  its  place,  and  went  to  bed,  intending  to  release  my 
prisoner  at  an  early  hour,  before  any  of  the  family  were  awake. 
I  was  so  tired,  however,  by  the  exertions  I  had  made  in  catch- 
ing the  donkey,  that  I  fell  into  a  sound  sleep,  and  the  morning 
broke  without  my  awaking. 

"  Not  so  with  dame  Barbara,  the  housekeeper.  As  usual,  to 
use  her  own  phrase,  '  she  was  up  before  the  crow  put  his  shoes 
on,'  and  bustled  about  to  get  things  in  order  for  breakfast. 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RING  WOOD.    HQ 

Her  first  resort  was  to  the  smoke-house.  Scarce  had  she 
opened  the  door,  when  master  Jack,  tired  of  his  confinement, 
and  glad  to  be  released  from  darkness,  gave  a  loud  bray,  and 
rushed  forth.  Down  dropped  old  Barbara;  the  animal  tram- 
pled over  her,  and  made  off  for  the  common.  Poor  Barbara! 
She  had  never  before  seen  a  donkey,  and  having  read  in  the 
Bible  that  the  devil  went  about  like  a  roaring  lion,  seeking 
whom  he  might  devour,  she  took  it  for  granted  that  this  was 
Beelzebub  himself.  The  kitchen  was  soon  in  a  hubbub ;  the 
servants  hurried  to  the  spot.  There  lay  old  Barbara  in  fits ; 
as  fast  as  she  got  out  of  one,  the  thoughts  of  the  devil  came 
over  her,  and  she  fell  into  another,  for  the  good  soul  was 
devoutly  superstitious. 

"As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  among  those  attracted  by  the 
noise  was  a  little,  cursed,  fidgety,  crabbed  uncle  of  mine ;  one 
of  those  uneasy  spirits  that  cannot  rest  quietly  in  their  beds  hi 
the  morning,  but  must  be  up  early,  to  bother  the  household. 
He  was  only  a  kind  of  half -uncle,  after  all,  for  he  had  married 
my  father's  sister;  yet  he  assumed  great  authority  on  the 
strength  of  this  left-handed  relationship,  and  was  a  universal 
intermeddler  and  family  pest.  This  prying  little  busydody 
soon  ferreted  out  the  truth  of  the  story,  and  discovered,  by 
hook  and  by  crook,  that  I  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  affair,  and 
had  locked  up  the  donkey  in  the  smoke-house.  He  stopped  to 
inquire  no  further,  for  he  was  one  of  those  testy  curmudgeons 
with  whom  unlucky  boys  are  always  in  the  wrong.  Leaving 
old  Barbara  to  wrestle  in  imagination  with  the  devil,  he  made 
for  my  bed-chamber,  where  I  still  lay  wrapped  in  rosy  slum- 
bers, little  dreaming  of  the  mischief  I  had  done,  and  the  storm 
about  to  break  over  me. 

"  In  an  instant  I  was  awakened  by  a  shower  of  thwacks,  and 
started  up  in  wild  amazement.  I  demanded  the  meaning  of 
this  attack,  but  received  no  other  reply  than  that  I  had 
murdered  the  housekeeper ;  while  my  uncle  continued  whack- 
ing away  during  my  confusion.  I  seized  a  p«ker,  and  put 
myself  on  the  defensive.  I  was  a  stout  boy  for  my  years, 
while  my  uncle  was  a  little  wiff  et  of  a  man ;  one  that  in  Ken- 
tucky we  would  not  call  even  an  '  individual ; '  nothing  more 
than  a  '  remote  circumstance.'  I  soon,  therefore,  brought  him 
to  a  parley,  and  learned  the  whole  extent  of  the  charge  brought 
against  me.  I  confessed  to  the  donkey  and  the  smoke-house, 
but  pleaded  not  guilty  of  the  murder  of  the  housekeeper.  I 
soon  found  out  that  old  Barbara  was  still  alive.  She  con- 


120  TEE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

tinned  under  the  doctor's  hands,  however,  for  several  days-, 
and  whenever  she  had  an  ill  turn  my  uncle  would  seek  to  give 
me  another  flogging.  I  appealed  to  my  father,  but  got  no 
redress.  I  was  considered  an  'unlucky  hoy,'  prone  to  all 
kinds  of  mischief;  so  that  prepossessions  were  against  me  in 
all  cases  of  appeal. 

"I  felt  stung  to  the  soul  at  all  this.  I  had  been  beaten, 
degraded,  and  treated  with  slighting  when  I  complained.  I 
lost  my  usual  good  spirits  and  good  humor;  and,  being  out  oi 
temper  with  everybody,  fancied  everybody  out  of  temper  with 
me.  A  certain  wild,  roving  spirit  of  freedom,  which  I  believe 
is  as  inherent  in  me  as  it  is  in  the  partridge,  was  brought  into 
sudden  activity  by  the  checks  and  restraints  I  suffered.  '  I'll 
go  from  home,'  thought  I,  'and  shift  for  myself.'  Perhaps 
this  notion  was  quickened  by  the  rage  for  emigrating  to  Ken- 
tucky, which  was  at  that  time  prevalent  in  Virginia.  I  had 
heard  such  stories  of  the  romantic  beauties  of  the  country ;  of 
the  abundance  of  game  of  all  kinds,  and  of  the  glorious  inde- 
pendent life  of  the  hunters  who  ranged  its  noble  forests,  and 
li ved  by  the  rifle ;  that  I  was  as  much  agog  to  get  there  as  boys 
who  live  in  sea-ports  are  to  launch  themselves  among  the  won- 
ders and  adventures  of  the  ocean. 

"  After  a  time  old  Barbara  got  better  in  mind  and  body,  and 
matters  were  explained  to  her ;  and  she  became  gradually  con- 
vinced that  it  was  not  the  devil  she  had  encountered.  When 
she  heard  how  harshly  I  had  been  treated  on  her  account,  the 
good  old  soul  was  extremely  grieved,  and  spo"ke  warmly  to  my 
father  in  my  behalf.  He  had  himself  remarked  the  change 
in  my  behavior,  and  thought  punishment  might  have  been 
carried  too  far.  He  sought,  therefore,  to  have  some  conversa- 
tion with  me,  and  to  soothe  my  f eelings ;  but  it  was  too  late. 
I  frankly  told  him  the  course  of  mortification  that  I  had  ex- 
perienced, and  the  fixed  determination  I  had  made  to  go  from 
home. 

'  And  where  do  you  mean  to  go? ' 

'To  Kentucky.' 

'  To  Kentucky!  Why,  you  know  nobody  there.' 

'  No  matter:  I  can  soon  make  acquaintances.' 

'  And  what  will  you  do  when  you  get  there?' 

'Hunt!' 

My  father  gave  a  long,  low  whistle,  and  looked  in  my  face 
with  a  serio-comic  expression.  I  was  not  far  in  my  teens,  and 
to  talk  of  setting  off  alone  for  Kentucky,  to  turn  hunter 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RING  WOOD.    121 

seemed  doubtless  the  idle  prattle  of  a  boy.  He  was  little 
aware  of  the  dogged  resolution  of  my  character;  and  his 
smile  of  incredulity  but  fixed  me  more  obstinately  in  my  pur- 
pose. I  assured  him  I  was  serious  in  what  I  said,  and  would 
certainly  set  off  for  Kentucky  in  the  spring. 

"  Month  after  month  passed  away.  My  father  now  and  then 
adverted  slightly  to  what  had  passed  between  us;  doubtless 
for  the  purpose  of  sounding  me.  I  always  expressed  the  same 
grave  and  fixed  determination.  By  degrees  he  spoke  to  me 
more  directly  on  the  subject,  endeavoring  earnestly  but  kindly  V 
to  dissuade  me.  My  only  reply  was,  '  I  had  made  up  my  mind. ' 

"Accordingly,  as  soon  as  the  spring  had  fairly  opened,  I 
sought  him  one  day  in  his  study,  and  informed  him  I  was 
about  to  set  out  for  Kentucky,  and  had  come  to  take  my 
leave.  He  made  no  objection,  for  he  had  exhausted  persua- 
sion and  remonstrance,  and  doubtless  thought  it  best  to  give 
way  to  my  humor,  trusting  that  a  little  rough  experience 
would  soon  bring  me  home  again.  I  asked  money  for  my 
journey.  He  went  to  a  chest,  took  out  a  long  green  silk  purse, 
well  filled,  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  I  now  asked  for  a  horse 
and  servant. 

"  'A  horse!'  said  my  father,  sneeringly:  'why,  you  would 
not  go  a  mile  without  racing  him,  and  breaking  your  neck; 
and  as  to  a  servant,  you  cannot  take  care  of  yourself,  much 
less  of  him.' 

"  '  How  am  I  to  travel,  then? ' 

"  '  Why,  I  suppose  you  are  man  enough  to  travel  on  foot.' 

"  He  spoke  jestingly,  little  thinking  I  would  take  him  at  his 
word ;  but  I  was  thoroughly  piqued  in  respect  to  my  enter- 
prise ;  so  I  pocketed  the  purse,  went  to  my  room,  tied  up  three 
or  four  shirts  in  a  pocket-handkerchief,  put  a  dirk  in  my 
bosom,  girt  a  couple  of  pistol?  round  my  waist,  and  felt  like 
a  knight-errant  armed  cap-a  pie,  and  ready  to  rove  the  world 
in  quest  of  adventures. 

' '  My  sister  (I  had  but  one)  hung  round  me  and  wept,  and 
entreated  me  to  sta-\ .  J  teit  my  heart  swell  in  my  throat ;  but 
I  gulped  it  back  ^o  its  place,  and  straightened  myself  up:  I 
would  not  suffe:  myself  to  cry.  I  at  length  disengaged  my- 
self from  her,  and  got  to  the  door. 

"  'When  wilf  you  come  back? '  cried  she. 

"  '  Never,  J/y  heavens ! '  cried  I,  '  until  I  come  back  a  member 
of  Congresp  <rom  Kentucky.  I  am  determined  to  show  that  I 
am  not  tb?  tail-end  of  the  family.' 


122  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

"Such  was  my  first  outset  from  home.  You  may  suppose 
what  a  greenhorn  I  was,  and  how  little  I  knew  of  the  world  I 
was  launching  into. 

"I  do  not  recollect  any  incident  of  importance,  until  I 
reached  the  borders  of  Pennsylvania.  I  had  stopped  at  an  inn 
to  get  some  refreshment;  and  as  I  was  eating  hi  the  back  room, 
I  overheard  two  men  in  the  bar-room  conjecture  who  and  what 
I  could  be.  One  determined,  at  length,  that  I  was  a  run-away 
apprentice,  and  ought  to  be  stopped,  to  which  the  other  as- 
sented. When  I  had  finished  my  meal,  and  paid  for  it,  I  went 
out  at  the  back  door,  lest  I  should  be  stopped  by  my  super- 
visors. Scorning,  however,  to  steal  off  like  a  culprit,  I  walked 
round  to  the  front  of  the  house.  One  of  the  men  advanced  to 
the  front  door.  He  wore  his  hat  on  one  side,  and  had  a  conse- 
quential air  that  nettled  me. 

"  '  Where  are  you  going,  youngster? '  demanded  he. 

"  '  That's  none  of  your  business ! '  replied  I,  rather  pertly. 

"  '  Yes,  but  it  is,  though!  You  have  run  away  from  home, 
and  must  give  an  account  of  yourself.' 

"  He  advanced  to  seize  me,  when  I  drew  forth  a  pistol.  '  If 
you  advance  another  step,  I'll  shoot  you ! ' 

"  He  sprang  back  as  if  he  had  trodden  upon  a  rattlesnake, 
and  his  hat  fell  off  in  the  movement. 

"  '  Let  him  alone ! '  cried  his  companion ;  '  he's  a  foolish,  mad- 
headed  boy,  and  don't  know  what  he's  about.  He'll  shoot  you, 
you  may  rely  on  it.' 

"He  did  not  need  any  caution  in  the  matter;  he  was  afraid 
even  to  pick  up  his  hat:  so  I  pushed  forward  on  my  way, 
without  molestation.  This  incident,  however,  had  its  effect 
upon  me.  I  became  fearful  of  sleeping  in  any  house  at  night, 
lest  I  should  be  stopped.  I  took  my  meals  in  the  houses,  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  but  would  turn  aside  at  night  into  some 
wood  or  ravine,  make  a  fire,  and  sleep  before  it.  This  I  con- 
sidered was  true  hunter's  style,  and  I  wished  to  inure  myself 
to  it. 

"At  length  I  arrived  at  Brownsville,  leg- weary  and  way- 
worn, and  in  a  shabby  plight,  as  you  may  suppose,  having  been 
'  camping  out '  for  some  nights  past,  I  applied  at  some  of  the 
inferior  inns,  but  could  gain  no  admission.  I  was  regarded  for 
a  moment  with  a  dubious  eye,  and  then  informed  they  did  not 
receive  foot-passengers.  At  last  I  went  boldly  to  the  principal 
inn.  The  landlord  appeared  as  unwilling  as  the  rest  tp  receive 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RING  WOOD.     123 

ft  vagrant  boy  beneath  his  roof;  but  his  wife  interfered  in  the 
midst  of  his  excuses,  and  half  elbowing  him  aside : 

'Where  are  you  going,  my  lad? '  said  she. 

'To  Kentucky.' 

'  What  are  you  going  there  for? ' 

'To  hunt.' 

She  looked  earnestly  at  me  for  a  moment  or  two.  '  Have 
you  a  mother  living? '  said  she  at  length. 

' No,  madam:  she  has  been  dead  for  some  time.' 

'  I  thought  so ! '  cried  she,  warmly.  '  I  knew  if  you  had  a 
mother  living,  you  would  not  be  here.'  From  that  moment  the 
good  woman  treated  me  with  a  mother's  kindness. 

"  I  remained  several  days  beneath  her  roof,  recovering  from 
the  fatigue  of  my  journey.  While  here  I  purchased  a  rifle  and 
practised  daily  at  a  mark  to  prepare  myself  for  a  hunter's  life. 
When  sufficiently  recruited  in  strength  I  took  leave  of  my 
kind  host  and  hostess  and  resumed  my  journey. 

"At  Wheeling  I  embarked  in  a  flat-bottomed  family  boat, 
technically  called  a  broad-horn,  a  prime  river  conveyance  in 
those  days.  In  this  ark  for  two  weeks  I  floated  down  the 
Ohio.  The  river  was  as  yet  in  all  its  wild  beauty.  Its  loftiest 
trees  had  not  been  thinned  out.  The  forest  overhung  the 
water's  edge,  and  was  occasionally  skirted  by  immense  cane- 
brakes.  Wild  animals  of  all  kinds  abounded.  We  heard  them, 
rushing  through  the  thickets  and  plashing  in  the  water.  Deer- 
and  bears  would  frequently  swim  across  the  river;  others 
would  come  down  to  the  bank  and  gaze  at  the  boat  as  it  passed, 
I  was  incessantly  on  the  alert  with  my  rifle ;  but  somehow  or 
other  the  game  was  never  within  shot.  Sometimes  I  got  a 
chance  to  land  and  try  my  skill  on  shore.  I  shot  squirrels  and 
small  birds  and  even  wild  turkeys;  but  though  I  caught 
glimpses  of  deer  bounding  away  through  the  woods,  I  never 
could  get  a  fair  shot  at  them. 

"  In  this  way  we  glided  in  our  broad-horn  past  Cincinnati, 
the  '  Queen  of  the  West,'  as  she  is  now  called,  then  a  mere 
group  of  log  cabins ;  and  the  site  of  the  bustling  city  of  Louis- 
ville, then  designated  by  a  solitary  house.  As  I  said  before, 
the  Ohio  was  as  yet  a  wild  river ;  all  was  forest,  forest,  forest ! 
Near  the  confluence  of  Green  River  with  the  Ohio,  I  landed,, 
bade  adieu  to  the  broad-horn,  and  struck  for  the  interior  of 
Kentucky.  I  had  no  precise  plan;  my  only  idea  was  to  make? 
for  one  of  the  wildest  parts  of  the  country.  I  had  relatives  in 
Lexington  and  other  settled  places,  to  whom  I  thought  it  prob- 


124  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

able  my  father  would  write  concerning  me :  so  as  I  was  full  of 
manhood  and  independence,  and  resolutely  bent  on  making 
my  way  in  the  world  without  assistance  or  control,  I  resolved 
to  keep  clear  of  them  all. 

"In  the  course  of  my  first  day's  trudge,  I  shot  a  wild  turkey, 
and  slung  it  on  my  back  for  provisions.  The  forest  was  open 
and  clear  from  underwood.  I  saw  deer  in  abundance,  but 
always  running,  running.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  these  animals 
never  stood  still. 

"  At  length  I  came  to  where  a  gang  of  half -starved  wolves 
were  feasting  on  the  carcass  of  a  deer  which  they  had  run 
down;  and  snarling  and  snapping  and  fighting  like  so  many 
dogs.  They  were  all  so  ravenous  and  intent  upon  their  prey 
that  they  did  not  notice  me,  and  I  had  time  to  make  my  obser- 
vations. One,  larger  and  fiercer  than  the  rest,  seemed  to  claim 
the  larger  share,  and  to  keep  the  others  in  awe.  If  any  one 
came  too  near  him  while  eating,  he  would  fly  off,  seize  and 
shake  him,  and  then  return  to  his  repast.  'This,'  thought  I, 
'  must  be  the  captain;  if  I  can  kill  him,  I  shall  defeat  the  whole 
army.'  I  accordingly  took  aim,  fired,  and  down  dropped  the 
old  fellow.  He  might  be  only  shamming  dead ;  so  I  loaded  and 
put  a  second  ball  through  him.  He  never  budged ;  all  the  rest 
ran  off,  and  my  victory  was  complete. 

"It  would  not  be  easy  to  describe  my  triumphant  feelings 
on  this  great  achievement.  I  marched  on  with  renovated 
spirit,  regarding  myself  as  absolute  lord  of  the  forest.  As 
night  drew  near,  I  prepared  for  camping.  My  first  care  was  to 
collect  dry  wood  and  make  a  roaring  fire  to  cook  and  sleep  by, 
and  to  frighten  off  wolves,  and  bears,  and  panthers.  I  then 
began  to  pluck  my  turkey  for  supper.  I  had  camped  out 
several  times  in  the  early  part  of  my  expedition ;  but  that  was 
in  comparatively  more  settled  and  civilized  regions,  where 
there  were  no  wild  animals  of  consequence  in  the  forest.  This 
was  my  first  camping  out  in  the  real  wilderness ;  and  I  was 
soon  made  sensible  of  the  loneliness  and  wildness  of  my  situa- 
tion. 

"In  a  little  while  a  concert  of  wolves  commenced:  there 
might  have  been  a  dozen  or  two,  but  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  there 
were  thousands.  I  never  heard  such  howling  and  whining. 
Having  prepared  my  turkey,  I  divided  it  into  two  parts,  thrust 
two  sticks  into  one  of  the  halves,  and  planted  them  on  end 
before  the  fire,  the  hunter's  mode  of  roasting.  The  smell  of 
roast  meat  quickened  the  appetites  of  the  wolves,  and  their 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RING  WOOD.     125 

concert  became  truly  infernal.  They  seemed  to  be  all  around 
me,  but  I  could  only  now  and  then  get  a  glimpse  of  one  of 
them,  as  he  came  within  the  glare  of  the  light. 

"I  did  not  much  care  for  the  wolves,  who  I  knew  to  be  a 
cowardly  race,  but  I  had  heard  terrible  stories  of  panthers, 
and  began  to  fear  their  stealthy  prowlings  in  the  surrounding 
darkness.  I  was  thirsty,  and  heard  a  brook  bubbling  and 
tinkling  along  at  no  great  distance,  but  absolutely  dared  not  go 
there,  lest  some  panther  might  lie  in  wait,  and  spring  upon  me. 
By  and  by  a  deer  whistled.  I  had  never  heard  one  before,  and 
thought  it  must  be  a  panther.  I  now  felt  uneasy  lest  he  might 
climb  the  trees,  crawl  along  the  branches  overhead,  and  plump 
down  upon  me ;  so  I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  branches,  until 
my  head  ached.  I  more  than  once  thought  I  saw  fiery  eyes 
glaring  down  from  among  the  leaves.  At  length  I  thought  of 
my  supper  and  turned  to  see  if  my  half -turkey  was  cooked. 
In  crowding  so  near  the  fire  I  had  pressed  the  meat  into  the 
flames,  and  it  was  consumed.  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  toast 
the  other  half,  and  take  better  care  of  it.  On  that  half  I  made 
my  supper,  without  salt  or  bread.  I  was  still  so  possessed 
with  the  dread  of  panthers,  that  I  could  not  close  my  eyes  all 
night,  but  lay  watching  the  trees  until  daybreak,  when  all  my 
fears  were  dispelled  with  the  darkness ;  and  as  I  saw  the  morn- 
ing sun  sparkling  down  through  the  branches  of  the  trees,  I 
smiled  to  think  how  I  had  suffered  myself  to  be  dismayed  by 
sounds  and  shadows:  but  I  was  a  young  woodsman,  and  a 
stranger  in  Kentucky. 

"Having  breakfasted  on  the  remainder  of  my  turkey,  and 
slaked  my  thirst  at  the  bubbling  stream,  without  further  dread 
of  panthers,  I  resumed  my  wayfaring  with  buoyant  feelings. 
I  again  saw  deer,  but  as  usual  running,  running!  I  tried  in 
vain  to  get  a  shot  at  them,  and  began  to  fear  I  never  should. 
I  was  gazing  in  vexation  after  a  herd  in  full  scamper,  when  I 
was  startled  by  a  human  voice.  Turning  round,  I  saw  a  man 
at  a  short  distance  from  me,  in  a  hunting-dress. 

"  'What  are  you  after,  my  lad?'  cried  he. 

"  'Those  deer,'  replied  I,  pettishly,  'but  it  seems  as  if  they 
never  stand  still.' 

"Upon  that  he  burst  out  laughing.  '  Where  are  you  from?1 
said  he. 

" '  From  Richmond.' 

"  '  What !    In  old  Virginny  ? ' 

"'  The  same.' 


15J0  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

"  'And  how  on  earth  did  you  get  here  ? ' 

"  'I  landed  at  Green  River  from  a  broad-horn.' 

"  'And  where  are  your  companions?' 

"'I  have  none.' 

"'What?— all  alone!' 

«"Yes.' 

*  '  Where  are  you  going? ' 

"  'Anywhere.' 

"  '  And  what  have  you  come  here  for  ? ' 

'  'To  hunt.' 

'  'Well,'  said  he,  laughingly,  'you'll  make  a  real  hunter; 
there's  no  mistaking  that !  Have  you  killed  anything? ' 

"  'Nothing  but  a  turkey;  I  can't  get  within  shot  of  a  deer: 
they  are  always  running.' 

" '  Oh,  I'll  tell  you  the  secret  of  that.  You're  always  pushing 
forward,  and  starting  the  deer  at  a  distance,  and  gazing  at 
those  that  are  scampering;  but  you  must  step  as  slow,  and 
silent,  and  cautious  as  a  cat,  and  keep  your  eyes  close  around 
you,  and  lurk  from  tree  to  tree,  if  you  wish  to  get  a  chance  at 
deer.  But  come,  go  home  with  me.  My  name  is  Bill  Smithers ; 
I  live  not  far  off :  stay  with  me  a  little  while,  and  I'll  teach  you 
how  to  hunt.' 

"I  gladly  accepted  the  invitation  of  honest  Bill  Smithers. 
We  soon  reached  his  habitation ;  a  mere  log  hut,  with  a  square 
hole  for  a  window,  and  a  chimney  made  of  sticks  and  clay. 
'Here  he  lived,  with  a  wife  and  child.  He  had  'girdled'  the 
trees  for  an  acre  or  two  around,  preparatory  to  clearing  a 
space  for  corn  and  potatoes.  In  the  mean  time  he  maintained 
his  family  entirely  by  his  rifle,  and  I  soon  found  him  to  be  a 
first-rate  huntsman.  Under  his  tutelage  I  received  my  first 
effective  lessons  in  'woodcraft.' 

"The  more  I  knew  of  a  hunter's  life,  the  more  I  relished  it. 
The  country,  too,  which  had  been  the  promised  land  of  my 
boyhood,  did  not,  like  most  promised  lands,  disappoint  me. 
No  wilderness  could  be  more  beautiful  than  this  part  of  Ken- 
tucky, in  those  times.  The  forests  were  open  and  spacious, 
with  noble  trees,  some  of  which  looked  as  if  they  had  stood  for 
centuries.  There  were  beautiful  prairies,  too,  diversified  with 
groves  and  clumps  of  trees,  which  looked  like  vast  parks, 
and  in  which  you  could  see  the  deer  running,  at  a  great  dis- 
tance. In  the  proper  season  these  prairies  would  be  covered 
in  many  places  with  wild  strawberries,  where  your  horse's 
hoofs  would  be  dyed  to  the  fetlock.  I  thought  there  could  not 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOB.    127 

be  another  place  in  the  world  equal  to  Kentucky — and  I  think, 
so  still. 

"After  I  had  passed  ten  or  twelve  days  with  Bill  Srnitfc^rs; 
I  thought  it  time  to  shift  my  quarters,  for  his  house  was 
scarce  large  enough  for  his  own  family,  and  I  had  no  idea  of 
being  an  incumbrance  to  any  one.  I  accordingly  made  up  my 
bundle,  shouldered  my  rifle,  took  a  friendly  leave  of  Smithers 
and  his  wife,  and  set  out  in  quest  of  a  Nimrod  of  the  wilderness, 
one  John  Miller,  who  lived  alone,  nearly  forty  miles  off,  and 
who  I  hoped  would  be  well  pleased  to  have  a  hunting  com- 
panion. 

"I  soon  found  out  that  one  of  the  most  important  items  in 
woodcraft  in  a  new  country  was  the  skill  to  find  one's  way  in 
the  wilderness.  There  were  no  regular  roads  in  the  forests, 
but  they  were  cut  up  and  perplexed  by  paths  leading  in  all  1 
directions.  Some  of  these  were  made  by  the  cattle  of  the  set- 
tlers, and  were  called  'stock-tracks,'  but  others  had  been  made  > 
by  the  immense  droves  of  buffaloes  which  roamed  about  the- 
country,  from  the  flood  until  recent  times.  These  were  called! 
buffalo-tracks,  and  traversed  Kentucky  from  end  to  end,  lik© 
highways.  Traces  of  them  may  still  be  seen  in  uncultivated! 
parts,  or  deeply  worn  in  the  rocks  where  they  crossed  the 
mountains.  I  was  a  young  woodsman,  and  sorely  puzzled  to 
distinguish  one  kind  of  track  from  the  other,  or  to  make  out 
my  course  through  this  tangled  labyrinth.  While  thus  per1- 
plexed,  I  heard  a  distant  roaring  and  rushing  sound ;  a  gloom, 
stole  over  the  forest :  on  looking  up,  when  I  could  catch  a  stray 
glimpse  of  the  sky,  I  beheld  the  clouds  rolled  up  like  balls,  the 
lower  parts  as  black  as  ink.  There  was  now  and  then  an  ex- 
plosion, like  a  burst  of  cannonry  afar  off,  and  the  crash  of  a, 
falling  tree.  I  had  heard  of  hurricanes  in  the  woods,  and  sur- 
mised that  one  was  at  hand.  It  soon  came  crashing  its  way;-, 
the  forest  writhing,  and  twisting,  and  groaning  before  it.  The 
hurricane  did  not  extend  far  on  either  side,  but  in  a  manner 
ploughed  a  furrow  through  the  woodland;  snapping  off  or  up- 
rooting trees  that  had  stood  for  centuries,  and  filling  the  air- 
with  whirling  branches.  I  was  directly  in  its  course,  and  took: 
my  stand  behind  an  immense  poplar,  six  feet  in  diameter.  It/ 
bore  for  a  time  the  full  fury  of  the  blast,  but  at  length  began, 
to  yield.  Seeing  it  falling,  I  scrambled  nimbly  round  the; 
trunk  like  a  squirrel.  Down  it  went,  bearing  down  another- 
tree  with  it.  I  crept  under  the  trunk  as  a  shelter,  and  wa» 
protected  from  other  trees  which  fell  around  me,  but  was  sore* 


128  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

all  over  from  the  twigs  and  branches  driven  against  me  by  the 
blast. 

"This  was  the  only  incident  of  consequence  that  occurred 
on  my  way  to  John  Miller's,  where  I  arrived  on  the  following 
day,  and  was  received  by  the  veteran  with  the  rough  kindness 
of  a  backwoodsman.  He  was  a  gray -haired  man,  hardy  and 
weather-beaten,  with  a  blue  wart,  like  a  great  bead,  over  one 
eye,  whence  he  was  nicknamed  by  the  hunters  '  Blue-bead 
Miller.'  He  had  been  in  these  parts  from  the  earliest  settle- 
ments, and  had  signalized  himself  in  the  hard  conflicts  with 
the  Indians,  which  gained  Kentucky  the  appellation  of  '  the 
Bloody  Ground.'  In  one  of  these  fights  he  had  had  an  arm 
broken ;  in  another  he  had  narrowly  escaped,  when  hotly  pur- 
sued, by  jumping  from  a  precipice  thirty  feet  high  into  a  river. 

"Miller  willingly  received  me  into  his  house  as  an  inmate, 
and  seemed  pleased  with  the  idea  of  making  a  hunter  of  me. 
His  dwelling  was  a  small  log-house,  with  a  loft  or  garret  of 
boards,  so  that  there  was  ample  room  for  both  of  us.  Under 
his  instruction  I  soon  made  a  tolerable  proficiency  in  hunting. 
My  first  exploit,  of  any  consequence,  was  killing  a  bear.  I 
was  hunting  in  company  with  two  brothers,  when  we  came 
upon  the  track  of  Bruin,  in  a  wood  where  there  was  an  under- 
growth of  canes  and  grape-vines.  He  was  scrambling  up  a 
tree,  when  I  shot  him  through  the  breast :  he  fell  to  the  ground 
and  lay  motionless.  The  brothers  sent  in  their  dog,  who  seized 
the  bear  by  the  throat.  Bruin  raised  one  arm,  and  gave  the 
dog  a  hug  that  crushed  his  ribs.  One  yell,  and  all  was  over. 
I  don't  know  which  was  first  dead,  the  dog  or  the  bear.  The 
two  brothers  sat  down  and  cried  like  children  over  their  un- 
fortunate dog.  Yet  they  were  mere  rough  huntsmen,  almost 
as  wild  and  untameable  as  Indians :  but  they  were  fine  fellows. 

"By  degrees  I  became  known,  and  somewhat  of  a  favorite 
among  the  hunters  of  the  neighborhood ;  that  is  to  say,  men 
who  lived  within  a  circle  of  thirty  or  forty  miles,  and  came 
occasionally  to  see  John  Miller,  who  was  a  patriarch  among 
them.  They  lived  widely  apart,  in  log  huts  and  wigwams, 
almost  with  the  simplicity  of  Indians,  and  well-nigh  as  desti- 
tute  of  the  comforts  and  inventions  of  civilized  life.  They 
seldom  saw  each  other;  weeks,  and  even  months  would  elapse, 
without  their  visiting.  When  they  did  meet,  it  was  very 
much  after  the  manner  of  Indians;  loitering  about  all  day, 
without  having  much  to  say,  but  becoming  communicative  as 
evening  advanced,  and  sitting  ^r  nau*  the  night  before  the  fire, 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RING  WOOD.    129 

telling  hunting  stories,  and  terrible  tales  of  the  fights  of  the 
Bloody  Ground. 

"Sometimes  several  would  join  in  a  distant  hunting  expedi- 
tion, or  rather  campaign.  Expeditions  of  this  kind  lasted  from 
November  until  April ;  during  which  we  laid  up  our  stock  of 
summer  provisions.  We  shifted  our  hunting  camps  from, 
place  to  place,  according  as  we  found  the  game.  They  were 
generally  pitched  near  a  run  of  water,  and  close  by  a  cane-brake, 
to  screen  us  from  the  wind.  One  side  of  our  lodge  was  open 
toward  the  fire.  Our  horses  were  hoppled  and  turned  loose  in 
the  cane-brakes,  with  bells  round  their  necks.  One  of  the 
party  stayed  at  home  to  watch  the  camp,  prepare  the  meals, 
and  keep  off  the  wolves ;  the  others  hunted.  When  a  hunter 
killed  a  deer  at  a  distance  from  the  camp,  he  would  open  it  and 
take  out  the  entrails ;  then  climbing  a  sapling,  he  would  bend 
it  down,  tie  the  deer  to  the  top,  and  let  it  spring  up  again,  so 
as  to  suspend  the  carcass  out  of  reach  of  the  wolves.  At  night 
he  would  return  to  the  camp,  and  give  an  account  of  his  luck. 
The  next  morning  early  he  would  get  a  horse  out  of  the  cane- 
brake  and  bring  home  his  game.  That  day  he  would  stay  at 
home  to  cut  up  the  carcass,  while  the  others  hunted. 

"  Our  days  were  thus  spent  in  silent  and  lonely  occupations. 
It  was  only  at  night  that  we  would  gather  together  before  the 
fire,  and  be  sociable.  I  was  a  novice,  and  used  to  listen  with 
open  eyes  and  ears  to  the  strange  and  wild  stories  told  by  the 
old  hunters,  and  believed  everything  I  heard.  Some  of  their 
stories  bordered  upon  the  supernatural.  They  believed  that 
their  rifles  might  be  spell-bound,  so  as  not  to  be  able  to  kill  a 
buffalo,  even  at  arm's  length.  This  superstition  they  had 
derived  from  the  Indians,  who  often  think  the  white  hunters 
have  laid  a  spell  upon  their  rifles.  Miller  partook  of  this 
•"superstition,  and  used  to  tell  of  his  rifle's  having  a  spell  upon 
it;  but  it  often  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  shuffling  way  of  account- 
ing for  a  bad  shot.  If  a  hunter  grossly  missed  his  aim  he 
would  ask,  'Who  shot  last  with  this  rifle?' — and  hint  that  he 
must  have  charmed  it.  The  sure  mode  to  disenchant  the  gun 
was  to  shoot  a  silver  bullet  out  of  it. 

"  By  the  opening  of  spring  we  would  generally  have  quanti- 
ties of  bear's-meat  and  venison  salted,  dried,  and  smoked,  and 
numerous  packs  of  skins.  We  would  then  make  the  best  of 
our  way  home  from  our  distant  hunting-grounds ;  transporting 
our  spoils,  sometimes  in  canoes  along  the  rivers,  sometimes 
on  horseback  over  land,  and  our  return  would  often  be  cele- 


130  ?BR  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

brated  by  feasting  and  dancing,  in  true  backwoods  style.  1 
have  given  you  some  idea  of  our  hunting;  let  me  now  give  you 
a  sketch  of  our  frolicking. 

"It  was  on  our  return  from  a  winter's  hunting  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Green  River,  when  we  received  notice  that  there 
was  to  be  a  grand  frolic  at  Bob  Mosely's,  to  greet  the  hunters. 
This  Bob  Mosely  was  a  prime  fellow  throughout  the  country. 
He  was  an  indifferent  hunter,  it  is  true,  and  rather  lazy  to 
boot ;  but  then  he  could  play  the  fiddle,  and  that  was  enough 
to  make  him  of  consequence.  There  was  no  other  man  within 
a  hundred  miles  that  could  play  the  fiddle,  so  there  was  no 
having  a  regular  frolic  without  Bob  Mosely.  The  hunters, 
therefore,  were  always  ready  to  give  him  a  share  of  their 
game  in  exchange  for  his  music,  and  Bob  was  always  ready  to 
get  up  a  carousal,  whenever  there  was  a  party  returning  from 
a  hunting  expedition.  The  present  frolic  was  to  take  place 
.at  Bob  Mosely's  own  house,  which  was  on  the  Pigeon  Roost 
Fork  of  the  Muddy,  which  is  a  branch  of  Rough  Creek,  which 
is  a  branch  of  Green  River. 

"Everybody  was  agog  for  the  revel  at  Bob  Moseley's;  and  as 
all  the  fashion  of  the  neighborhood  was  to  be  there,  I  thought 
I  must  brush  up  for  the  occasion.  My  leathern  hunting-dress, 
which  was  the  only  one  I  had,  was  somewhat  the  worse  for 
wear,  it  is  true,  and  considerably  japanned  with  blood  and 
grease;  but  I  was  up  to  hunting  expedients.  Getting  into  a 
periogue,  I  paddled  off  to  a  part  of  the  Green  River  where 
there  was  sand  and  clay,  that  might  serve  for  soap ;  then  taking 
off  my  dress,  I  scrubbed  and  scoured  it,  until  I  thought  it  looked 
very  well.  I  then  put  it  on  the  end  of  a  stick,  and  hung  it  out 
of  the  periogue  to  dry,  while  I  stretched  myself  very  comfort- 
ably on  the  green  bank  of  the  river.  Unluckily  a  flaw  struck 
the  periogue,  and  tipped  over  the  stick:  down  went  my  dress 
to  the  bottom  of  the  river,  and  I  never  saw  it  more.  Here  was 
I,  left  almost  in  a  state  of  nature.  I  managed  to  make  a  kind 
of  Robinson  Crusoe  garb  of  undressed  skins,  with  the  hair  on, 
which  enabled  me  to  get  home  with  decency ;  but  my  dream  of 
gayety  and  fashion  was  at  an  end ;  for  how  could  I  think  of 
figuring  in  high  life  at  the  Pigeon  Roost,  equipped  like  a  mere 
Orson? 

"  Old  Miller,  who  really  began  to  take  some  pride  in  me,  was 
confounded  when  he  understood  that  I  did  not  intend  to  go  to 
Bob  Mosely's ;  but  when  I  told  him  my  misfortune,  and  that  I 
had  no  dress:  '  By  the  powers,'  cried  he,  'but  you  shall  go,  and 


EAUL?  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.    131 

you  shall  be  the  best  dressed  and  the  best  mounted  lad 
there ! ' 

"He  immediately  set  to  work  to  cut  out  and  make  up  a 
hunting-shirt  of  dressed  deer-skin,  gayly  fringed  at  the  shoul- 
ders, with  leggings  of  the  same,  fringed  from  hip  to  heel.  He 
then  made  me  a  rakish  raccoon-cap,  with  a  flaunting  tail  to  it; 
mounted  me  on  his  best  horse ;  and  I  may  say,  without  vanity, 
that  I  was  one  of  the  smartest  fellows  that  figured  on  that 
occasion,  at  the  Pigeon  Roost  Fork  of  the  Muddy. 

"It  was  no.  small  occasion,  either,  let  me  tell  you.  Bob 
Mosely's  house  was  a  tolerably  large  bark  shanty,  with  a  clap- 
board roof;  and  there  were  assembled  all  the  young  hunters  and 
pretty  girls  of  the  country,  for  many  a  mile  round.  The  young 
men  were  in  their  best  hunting-dresses,  but  not  one  could  com- 
pare with  mine ;  and  my  raccoon-cap,  with  its  flowing  tail,  was 
the  admiration  of  everybody.  The  girls  were  mostly  in  doe- 
skin dresses ;  for  there  was  no  spinning  and  weaving  as  yet  in 
the  woods ;  nor  any  need  of  it.  I  never  saw  girls  that  seemed 
to  me  better  dressed ;  and  I  was  somewhat  of  a  judge,  having 
seen  fashions  at  Richmond.  We  had  a  hearty  dinner,  and  a 
merry  one ;  for  there  was  Jemmy  Kiel,  famous  for  raccoon- 
hunting,  and  Bob  Tarleton,  and  Wesley  Pigman,  and  Joe  Tay- 
lor, and  several  other  prime  fellows  for  a  frolic,  that  made  all 
ring  again,  and  laughed,  that  you  might  have  heard  them  a 
mile. 

"After  dinner  we  began  dancing,  and  were  hard  at  it,  when, 
about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  there  was  a  new  arrival — 
the  two  daughters  of  old  Simon  Schultz ;  two  young  ladies  that 
affected  fashion  and  late  hours.  Their  arrival  had  nearly  put 
an  end  to  all  our  merriment.  I  must  go  a  little  roundabout  in 
my  story  to  explain  to  you  how  that  happened. 

"  As  old  Schultz,  the  father,  was  one  day  looking  in  the  cane- 
brakes  for  his  cattle,  he  came  upon  the  track  of  horses.  He 
knew  they  were  none  of  his,  and  that  none  of  his  neighbors  had 
horses  about  that  place.  They  must  be  stray  horses ;  or  must 
belong  to  some  traveller  who  had  lost  his  way,  as  the  track  led 
nowhere.  He  accordingly  followed  it  up,  until  he  came  to  an 
unlucky  peddler,  with  two  or  three  pack-horses,  who  had  been 
bewildered  among  the  cattle-tracks,  and  had  wandered  for  two 
or  three  days  among  woods  and  cane-brakes,  until  he  was  almost 
famished. 

"  Old  Schultz  brought  him  to  his  house ;  fed  him  on  venison, 
bear's  meat,  and  hominy,  and  at  the  end  of  a  week  put  him  in 


132  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

prime  condition.  The  peddler  could  not  sufficiently  express  hia 
thankfulness ;  and  when  about  to  depart,  inquired  what  he  had 
to  pay?  Old  Schultz  stepped  back  with  surprise.  '  Stranger,' 
said  he,  '  you  have  been  welcome  under  my  roof.  I've  given 
you  nothing  but  wild  meat  and  hominy,  because  I  had  no  bet- 
ter, but  have  been  glad  of  your  company.  You  are  welcome 
to  stay  as  long  as  you  please;  but,  by  Zounds !  if  any  one  offers 
to  pay  Simon  Schultz  for  food  he  affronts  him! '  So  saying,  he 
walked  out  in  a  huff. 

"  The  peddler  admired  the  hospitality  of  his  host,  but  could 
not  reconcile  it  to  his  conscience  to  go  away  without  making 
some  recompense.  There  were  honest  Simon's  two  daughters, 
two  strapping,  red-haired  girls.  He  opened  his  packs  and  dis- 
played riches  before  them  of  which  they  had  no  conception ; 
for  in  those  days  there  were  no  country  stores  in  those  parts, 
with  their  artificial  finery  and  trinketry ;  and  this  was  the  first 
peddler  that  had  wandered  into  that  part  of  the  wilderness. 
The  girls  were  for  a  time  completely  dazzled,  and  knew  not 
what  to  choose:  but  what  caught  their  eyes  most  were  two 
looking-glasses,  about  the  size  of  a  dollar,  set  in  gilt  tin.  They 
had  never  seen  the  like  before,  having  used  no  other  mirror 
than  a  pail  of  water.  The  peddler  presented  them  with  these 
jewels,  without  the  least  hesitation;  nay,  he  gallantly  hung 
them  round  their  necks  by  red  ribbons,  almost  as  fine  as  the 
glasses  themselves.  This  done,  he  took  his  departure,  leaving 
them  as  much  astonished  as  two  princesses  in  a  fairy  tale,  that 
have  received  a  magic  gift  from  an  enchanter. 

"It  was  with  these  looking-glasses,  hung  round  their  necks 
as  lockets,  by  red  ribbons,  that  old  Schultz's  daughters  made 
their  appearance  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  at  the  frolic 
at  Bob  Mosely's,  on  the  Pigeon  Boost  Fork  of  the  Muddy. 

"By  the  powers,  but  it  was  an  event!  Such  a  thing  had 
never  before  been  seen  in  Kentucky.  Bob  Tarleton,  a  strap- 
ping fellow,  with  a  head  like  a  chestnut-burr,  and  a  look  like  a 
boar  in  an  apple  orchard,  stepped  up,  caught  hold  of  the  look- 
ing-glass of  one  of  the  girls,  and  gazing  at  it  for  a  moment, 
cried  out :  '  Joe  Taylor,  come  here !  come  here !  I'll  be  darn'd 
if  Patty  Schultz  ain't  got  a  locket  that  you  can  see  your  face  in, 
as  clear  as  in  a  spring  of  water ! ' 

MIn  a  twinkling  all  the  young  hunters  gathered  round  old 
Schultz's  daughters.  I,  who  knew  what  looking-glasses  were, 
did  not  budge.  Some  of  the  girls  who  sat  near  me  were  ex- 
cessively mortified  at  finding  themselves  thus  deserted.  I  heard 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RING  WOOD.    133 

Peggy  Pugh  say  to  Sally  Pigman,  '  Goodness  knows,  it's  well 
Schultz's  daughters  is  got  them  things  round  their  necks,  for 
it's  the  first  time  the  young  men  crowded  round  them ! ' 

"I  saw  immediately  the  danger  of  the  case.  We  were  a 
small  community,  and  could  not  afford  to  be  split  up  by  feuds. 
So  I  stepped  up  to  the  girls,  and  whispered  to  them:  'Polly,' 
said  I,  'those  lockets  are  powerful  fine,  and  become  you 
amazingly;  but  you  don't  consider  that  the  country  is  not 
advanced  enough  in  these  parts  for  such  things.  You  and  I 
understand  these  matters,  but  these  people  don't.  Fine  things 
like  these  may  do  very  well  in  the  old  settlements,  but  they 
won't  answer  at  the  Pigeon  Roost  Fork  of  the  Muddy.  You 
had  better  lay  them  aside  for  the  present,  or  we  shall  have  no 
peace.' 

"  Polly  and  her  sister  luckily  saw  their  error;  they  took  off 
the  lockets,  laid  them  aside,  and  harmony  was  restored :  other- 
wise, I  verily  believe  there  would  have  been  an  end  of  our 
community.  Indeed,  notwithstanding  the  great  sacrifice  they 
made  on  this  occasion,  I  do  not  think  old  Schultz's  daughters 
were  ever  much  liked  afterward  among  the  young  women. 

"This  was  the  first  time  that  looking-glasses  were  ever  seen 
in  the  Green  River  part  of  Kentucky. 

"I  had  now  lived  some  time  with  old  Miller,  and  had  become 
a  tolerably  expert  hunter.  Game,  however,  began  to  grow 
scarce.  The  buffalo  had  gathered  together,  as  if  by  universal 
understanding,  and  had  crossed  the  Mississippi,  never  to  re- 
turn. Strangers  kept  pouring  into  the  country,  clearing  away 
the  forests,  and  building  in  all  directions.  The  hunters  began 
to  grow  restive.  Jemmy  Kiel,  the  same  of  whom  I  have  already 
spoken  for  his  skill  in  raccoon  catching,  came  to  me  one  day : 
'  I  can't  stand  this  any  longer,'  said  he ;  '  we're  getting  too  thick 
here.  Simon  Schultz  crowds  me  so,  that  I  have  no  comfort  of 
my  life.' 

' ' '  Why,  how  you  talk  I '  said  I ;  '  Simon  Schultz  lives  twelve 
miles  off.' 

"  'No  matter;  his  cattle  run  with  mine,  and  I've  no  idea  of 
living  where  another  man's  cattle  can  run  with  mine.  That's 
too  close  neighborhood;  I  want  elbow-room.  This  country, 
too,  is  growing  too  poor  to  live  in ;  there's  no  game ;  so  two  or 
three  of  us  have  made  up  our  minds  to  follow  the  buffalo  to  the 
Missouri,  and  we  should  like  to  have  you  of  the  party.'  Other 
hunters  of  my  acquaintance  talked  in  the  same  manner.  This 
set  me  thinking;  but  the  more  I  thought  the  more  I  was  per- 


134  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

plexed.  I  had  no  one  to  advise  with ;  old  Miller  and  his  asso- 
ciates knew  but  of  one  mode  of  life,  and  I  had  had  no  experience 
in  any  other :  but  I  had  a  wider  scope  of  thought.  When  out 
hunting  alone  I  used  to  forget  the  sport,  and  sit  for  hours  to- 
gether on  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  with  rifle  in  hand,  buried  in 
thought,  and  debating  with  myself:  'Shall  I  go  with  Jemmy 
Kiel  and  his  company,  or  shall  I  remain  here?  If  I  remain  here 
there  will  soon  be  nothing  left  to  hunt ;  but  am  I  to  be  a  hunter 
all  my  life?  Have  not  I  something  more  in  me  than  to  be 
carrying  a  rifle  on  my  shoulder,  day  after  day,  and  dodging 
about  after  bears,  and  deer,  and  other  brute  beasts? '  My  vanity 
told  me  I  had ;  and  I  called  to  mind  my  boyish  boast  to  my 
sister,  that  I  would  never  return  home,  until  I  returned  a 
member  of  Congress  from  Kentucky ;  but  was  this  the  way  to 
fit  myself  for  such  a  station? 

"Various  plans  passed  through  my  mind,  but  they  were 
abandoned  almost  as  soon  as  formed.  At  length  I  determined 
on  becoming  a  lawyer.  True  it  is,  I  knew  almost  nothing.  I 
had  left  school  before  I  had  learned  beyond  the  '  rule  of  three.' 
'Never  mind,'  said  I  to  myself,  resolutely;  'lam  a  terrible 
fellow  for  hanging  on  to  anything  when  I've  once  made  up  my 
mind ;  and  if  a  man  has  but  ordinary  capacity,  and  will  set  to 
work  with  heart  and  soul,  and  stick  to  it,  he  can  do  almost 
anything.'  With  this  maxim,  which  has  been  pretty  much 
my  main-stay  throughout  life,  I  fortified  myself  in  my  deter- 
mination to  attempt  the  law.  But  how  was  I  to  set  about  it? 
I  must  quit  this  forest  life,  and  go  to  one  or  other  of  the  towns, 
where  I  might  be  able  to  study,  and  to  attend  the  courts.  This 
too  required  funds.  I  examined  into  the  state  of  my  finances. 
The  purse  given  me  by  my  father  had  remained  untouched,  in 
the  bottom  of  an  old  chest  up  in  the  loft,  for  money  was  scarcely 
needed  in  these  parts.  I  had  bargained  away  the  skins  ac- 
quired in  hunting,  for  a  horse  and  various  other  matters,  on 
which,  in  case  of  need,  I  could  raise  funds.  I  therefore  thought 
I  could  make  shift  to  maintain  myself  until  I  was  fitted  for  the 
bar. 

"  I  informed  my  worthy  host  and  patron,  old  Miller,  of  my 
plan.  He  shook  his  head  at  my  turning  my  back  upon  the 
woods,  when  I  was  in  a  fair  way  of  making  a  first-rate  hunter; 
but  he  made  no  effort  to  dissuade  me.  I  accordingly  set  off  in 
September,  on  horseback,  intending  to  visit  Lexington,  Frank- 
fort, and  other  of  the  principal  towns,  in  search  of  a  favorable 
place  to  prosecute  my  studies.  My  choice  was  made  sooner 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RING  WOOD.     135 

than  I  expected.  I  had  put  up  one  night  at  Bardstown,  and 
found,  on  inquiry,  that  I  could  get  comfortable  board  and  ac- 
commodation in  a  private  family  for  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  week. 
I  liked  the  place,  and  resolved  to  look  no  farther.  So  the  next 
morning  I  prepared  to  turn  my  face  homeward,  and  take  my 
final  leave  of  forest  life. 

"I  had  taken  my  breakfast,  and  was  waiting  for  my  horse, 
when,  in  pacing  up  and  down  the  piazza,  I  saw  a  young  girl 
seated  near  a  window,  evidently  a  visitor.  She  was  very 
pretty;  with  auburn  hair  and  blue  eyes,  and  was  dressed  in 
white.  I  had  seen  nothing  of  the  kind  since  I  had  left  Rich- 
mond ;  and  at  that  time  I  was  too  much  of  a  boy  to  be  much 
struck  by  female  charms.  She  was  so  delicate  and  dainty- 
looking,  so  different  from  the  hale,  buxom,  brown  girls  of  the 
woods ;  and  then  her  white  dress ! — it  was  perfectly  dazzling ! 
Never  was  poor  youth  more  taken  by  surprise,  and  suddenly 
bewitched.  My  heart  yearned  to  know  her;  but  how  was  I 
to  accost  her?  I  had  grown  wild  in  the  woods,  and  had  none 
of  the  habitudes  of  polite  life.  Had  she  been  like  Peggy  Pugh 
or  Sally  Pigman,  or  any  other  of  my  leathern-dressed  belles  of 
the  Pigeon  Roost,  I  should  have  approached  her  without  dread ; 
nay,  had  she  been  as  fair  as  Schultz's  daughters,  with  their 
looking-glass  lockets,  I  should  not  have  hesitated;  but  that 
white  dress,  and  those  auburn  ringlets,  and  blue  eyes,  and  deli- 
cate locks,  quite  daunted,  while  they  fascinated  me.  I  don't 
know  what  put  it  into  my  head,  but  I  thought,  all  at  once,  that 
I  would  kiss  her !  It  would  take  a  long  acquaintance  to  arrive 
at  such  a  boon,  but  I  might  seize  upon  it  by  sheer  robbery. 
Nobody  knew  me  here.  I  would  just  step  in,  snatch  a  kiss, 
mount  my  horse,  and  ride  off.  She  would  not  be  the  worse  for 
it ;  and  that  kiss — oh !  I  should  die  if  I  did  not  get  it ! 

"I  gave  no  time  for  the  thought  to  cool,  but  entered  the 
house,  and  stepped  lightly  into  the  room.  She  was  seated  with 
her  back  to  the  door,  looking  out  at  the  window,  and  did  not 
hear  my  approach.  I  tapped  her  chair,  and  as  she  turned  and 
looked  up,  I  snatched  as  sweet  a  kiss  as  ever  was  stolen,  and 
vanished  in  a  twinkling.  The  next  moment  I  was  on  horse- 
back, galloping  homeward;  my  very  ears  tingling  at  what  I 
had  done. 

"On  my  return  home  I  sold  my  horse,  and  turned  every 
thing  to  cash;  and  found,  with  the  remains  of  the  paternal 
purse,  that  I  had  nearly  four  hundred  dollars;  a  little  capital 
which  I  resolved  to  manage  with  the  strictest  economy. 


136  THE  CRA  YON  PAPERS. 

"It  was  hard  parting  with  old  Miller,  who  had  been  like  a 
father  to  me ;  it  cost  me,  too,  something  of  a  struggle  to  give 
up  the  free,  independent  wild-wood  life  I  had  hitherto  led ;  but 
I  had  marked  out  my  course,  and  had  never  been  one  to  flinch 
or  turn  back. 

"I  footed  it  sturdily  to  Bardstown;  took  possession  of  the 
quarters  for  which  I  had  bargained,  shut  myself  up,  and  set  to 
work  with  might  and  main  to  study.  But  what  a  task  I  had 
before  me !  I  had  everything  to  learn ;  not  merely  law,  but  all 
the  elementary  branches  of  knowledge.  I  read  and  read,  for 
sixteen  hours  out  of  the  f our-and-twenty ;  but  the  more  I  read 
the  more  I  became  aware  of  my  own  ignorance,  and  shed  bitter 
tears  over  my  deficiency.  It  seemed  as  if  the  wilderness  of 
knowledge  expanded  and  grew  more  perplexed  as  I  advanced. 
Every  height  gained  only  revealed  a  wider  region  to  be  trav- 
ersed, and  nearly  filled  me  with  despair.  I  grew  moody,  silent, 
and  unsocial,  but  studied  on  doggedly  and  incessantly.  The 
only  person  with  whom  I  held  any  conversation  was  the  worthy- 
man  in  whose  house  I  was  quartered.  He  was  honest  and  well- 
meaning,  but  perfectly  ignorant,  and  I  believe  would  have 
liked  me  much  better  if  I  had  not  been  so  much  addicted  to 
reading.  He  considered  all  books  filled  with  lies  and  imposi- 
tions, and  seldom  could  look  into  one  without  finding  something 
to  rouse  his  spleen.  Nothing  put  him  into  a  greater  passion 
than  the  assertion  that  the  world  turned  on  its  own  axis  every 
f  our-and-twenty  hours.  He  swore  it  was  an  outrage  upon  com- 
mon sense.  'Why,  if  it  did,'  said  he,  'there  would  not  be  a 
drop  of  water  in  the  well  by  morning,  and  all  the  milk  and 
cream  in  the  dairy  would  be  turned  topsy-turvy !  And  then  to 
talk  of  the  earth  going  round  the  sun!  How  do  they  know  it? 
I've  seen  the  sun  rise  every  morning,  and  set  every  evening,  for 
more  than  thirty  years.  They  must  not  talk  to  me  about  the 
earth's  going  round  the  sun ! ' 

"At  another  time  he  was  in  a  perfect  fret  at  being  told  the 
distance  between  the  sun  and  moon.  '  How  can  any  one  tell 
the  distance?'  cried  he.  'Who  surveyed  it?  who  carried  the 
chain  ?  By  Jupiter !  they  only  talk  this  way  before  me  to  annoy 
me.  But  then  there's  some  people  of  sense  who  give  in  to  this 
cursed  humbug  I  There's  Judge  Broadnax,  now,  one  of  the  best 
lawyers  we  have ;  isn't  it  surprising  he  should  believe  in  such 
stuff  ?  Why,  sir,  the  other  daj  I  heard  him  talk  of  the  distance 
from  a  star  he  called  Mars  to  the  sun !  He  must  hnve  got  it 
out  of  one  or  other  of  those  confounded  books  he's  so  fond  of 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RING  WOOD.    137 

reading;  a  book  some  impudent  fellow  has  written,  who  knew 
nobody  could  swear  the  distance  was  more  or  less.' 

"  For  my  own  part,  feeling  my  own  deficiency  in  scientific 
lore,  I  never  ventured  to  unsettle  his  conviction  that  the  sun 
made  his  daily  circuit  round  the  earth ;  and  for  aught  I  said  to 
the  contrary,  he  lived  and  died  in  that  belief. 

"  I  had  been  about  a  year  at  Bardstown,  living  thus  stu- 
diously and  reclusely,  when,  as  I  was  one  day  walking  the 
street,  I  met  two  young  girls,  in  one  of  whom  I  immediately 
recalled  the  little  beauty  whom  I  had  kissed  so  impudently. 
She  blushed  up  to  the  eyes,  and  so  did  I ;  but  we  both  passed 
on  without  further  sign  of  recognition.  This  second  glimpse  of 
her,  however,  caused  an  odd  fluttering  about  my  heart.  I 
could  not  get  her  out  of  my  thoughts  for  days.  She  quite 
interfered  with  my  studies.  I  tried  to  think  of  her  as  a  mere 
child,  but  it  would  not  do ;  she  had  improved  in  beauty,  and 
was  tending  toward  womanhood ;  and  then  I  myself  was  but 
little  better  than  a  stripling.  However,  I  did  not  attempt  to 
seek  after  her,  or  even  to  find  out  who  she  was,  but  returned 
doggedly  to  my  books.  By  degrees  she  faded  from  my 
thoughts,  or  if  she  did  cross  them  occasionally,  it  was  only  to 
increase  my  despondency ;  for  I  feared  that  with  all  my  exer- 
tions, I  should  never  be  able  to  fit  myself  for  the  bar,  or  enable 
myself  to  support  a  wife. 

"One  cold  stormy  evening  I  was  seated,  in  dumpish  mood, 
in  the  bar-room  of  the  inn,  looking  into  the  fire,  and  turning 
over  uncomfortable  thoughts,  when  I  was  accosted  by  some 
one  who  had  entered  the  room  without  my  perceiving  it.  I 
looked  up,  and  saw  before  me  a  tall  and,  as  I  thought,  pom- 
pous-looking man,  arrayed  in  small-clothes  and  knee-buckles, 
with  powdered  head,  and  shoes  nicely  blacked  and  polished; 
a  style  of  dress  unparalleled  in  those  days,  in  that  rough 
country.  I  took  a  pique  against  him  from  the  very  portliness 
of  his  appearance,  and  stateliness  of  his  manner,  and  bristled 
up  as  he  accosted  me.  He  demanded  if  my  name  was  not 
Ringwood. 

"  I  was  startled,  for  I  supposed  myself  perfectly  incog. ;  but 
I  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"  '  Your  family,  I  believe,  lives  in  Richmond? ' 

"My  gorge  began  to  rise.  'Yes,  sir,'  replied  I,  sulkily,  'my 
family  does  lives  in  Richmond.' 

'"And  what,  may  I  ask,  has  brought  you  into  this  part  of 
the  country?' 


138  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

"'Zounds,  sir! 'cried  I,  starting  on  my  feet,  'what  busi- 
ness is  it  of  yours?  How  dare  you  to  question  me  in  this 
manner? ' 

"The  entrance  of  some  persons  prevented  a  reply;  but  I 
walked  up  and  down  the  bar-room,  filming  with  conscious  in- 
dependence and  insulted  dignity,  while  the  pompous-looking 
personage,  who  had  thus  trespassed  upon  my  spleen,  retired 
without  proffering  another  word. 

"  The  next  day,  while  seated  in  my  room,  some  one  tapped  at 
the  door,  and,  on  being  bid  to  enter,  the  stranger  in  the  pow- 
dered head,  small-clothes,  and  shining  shoes  and  buckles, 
walked  in  with  ceremonious  courtesy. 

"  My  boyish  pride  was  again  in  arms;  but  he  subdued  me. 
He  was  formal,  but  kind  and  friendly.  He  knew  my  family 
and  understood  my  situation,  and  the  dogged  struggle  I  was 
making.  A  little  conversation,  when  my  jealous  pride  was 
once  put  to  rest,  drew  everything  from  me.  He  was  a  lawyer 
of  experience  and  of  extensive  practice,  and  offered  at  once  to 
take  me  with  him,  and  direct  my  studies.  The  offer  was  too 
advantageous  and  gratifying  not  to  be  immediately  accepted. 
From  that  time  I  began  to  look  up.  I  was  put  into  a  proper 
track,  and  was  enabled  to  study  to  a  proper  purpose.  I  made 
acquaintance,  too,  with  some  of  the  young  men  of  the  place, 
who  were  in  the  same  pursuit,  and  was  encouraged  at  finding 
that  I  could  '  hold  my  own '  in  argument  with  them.  We  insti- 
tuted a  debating  club,  in  which  I  soon  became  prominent  and 
popular.  Men  of  talents,  engaged  in  other  pursuits,  joined  it, 
and  this  diversified  our  subjects,  and  put  me  on  various  tracks 
of  inquiry.  Ladies,  too,  attended  some  of  our  discussions,  and 
this  gave  them  a  polite  tone,  and  had  an  influence  on  the  man- 
ners of  the  debaters.  My  legal  patron  also  may  have  had  a 
favorable  effect  in  correcting  any  roughness  contracted  in  my 
hunter's  life.  He  was  calculated  to  bend  me  in  an  opposite 
direction,  for  he  was  of  the  old  school ;  quoted  Chesterfield  on 
all  occasions,  and  talked  of  Sir  Charles  Grandison,  who  was 
his  beau  ideal.  It  was  Sir  Charles  Grandison,  however,  Ken- 
tuckyized. 

"  I  had  always  been  fond  of  female  society.  My  experience, 
however,  had  hitherto  been  among  the  rough  daughters  of  the 
backwoodsmen;  and  I  felt  an  awe  of  young  ladies  in  'store 
clothes,'  and  delicately  brought  up.  Two  or  three  of  the  mar- 
ried ladies  of  Bardstown,  who  had  heard  me  at  the  debating 
club,  determined  that  I  was  a  genius,  and  undertook  to  bring 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINOWOOD.    139 

me  out.  I  believe  I  really  improved  under  their  hands ;  became 
quiet  where  I  had  been  shy  or  sulky,  and  easy  where  I  had 
been  impudent. 

"I  called  to  take  tea  one  evening  with  one  of  these  ladies, 
when  to  my  surprise,  and  somewhat  to  my  confusion,  I  found 
with  her  the  identical  blue-eyed  little  beauty  whom  I  had  so 
audaciously  kissed.  I  was  formally  introduced  to  her,  but 
neither  of  us  betrayed  any  sign  of  previous  acquaintance,  ex- 
cept by  blushing  to  the  eyes.  While  tea  was  getting  ready, 
the  lady  of  the  house  went  out  of  the  room  to  give  some  direc- 
tions, and  left  us  alone. 

"Heavens  and  earth,  what  a  situation!  I  would  have  given 
all  the  pittance  I  was  worth  to  have  been  in  the  deepest  dell  of 
the  forest.  I  felt  the  necessity  of  saying  something  in  excuse 
of  my  former  rudeness,  but  I  could  not  conjure  up  an  idea, 
nor  utter  a  word.  Every  moment  matters  were  growing 
worse.  I  felt  at  one  time  tempted  to  do  as  I  had  done  when 
I  robbed  her  of  the  kiss:  bolt  from  the  room,  and  take  to 
flight;  but  I  was  chained  to  the  spot,  for  I  really  longed  to 
gain  her  good- will. 

"At  length  I  plucked  up  courage,  on  seeing  that  she  was 
equally  confused  with  myself,  and  walking  desperately  up  to 
her,  I  exclaimed : 

"  'I  have  been  trying  to  muster  up  something  to  say  to  you, 
but  I  cannot.  I  feel  that  I  am  in  a  horrible  scrape.  Do  have 
pity  on  me,  and  help  me  out  of  it.' 

"A  smile  dimpled  about  her  mouth,  and  played  among  the 
blushes  of  her  cheek.  She  looked  up  with  a  shy,  but  arch 
glance  of  the  eye,  that  expressed  a  volume  of  comic  recollec- 
tion; we  both  broke  into  a  laugh,  and  from  that  moment  all 
went  on  well. 

"  A  few  evenings  afterward  I  met  her  at  a  dance,  and  pro- 
secuted the  acquaintance.  I  soon  became  deeply  attached  to 
her ;  paid  my  court  regularly ;  and  before  I  was  nineteen  years 
of  age,  had  engaged  myself  to  marry  her.  I  spoke  to  her 
mother,  a  widow  lady,  to  ask  her  consent.  She  seemed  to 
demur;  upon  which,  with  my  customary  haste,  I  told  her 
there  would  be  no  use  in  opposing  the  match,  for  if  her  daugh- 
ter chose  to  have  me,  I  would  take  her,  in  defiance  of  her 
family,  and  the  whole  world. 

"She  laughed,  and  told  me  I  need  not  give  myself  any  un- 
easiness; there  would  be  no  unreasonable  opposition.  She 
knew  my  family  and  all  about  me.  The  only  obstacle  was, 


140  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

that  I  had  no  means  of  supporting  a  wife,  and  she  had  noth- 
ing to  give  with  her  daughter. 

"No  matter;  at  that  moment  everything  was  bright  before 
me.  I  was  in  one  of  my  sanguine  moods.  I  feared  nothing, 
doubted  nothing.  So  it  was  agreed  that  I  should  prosecute  my 
studies,  obtain  a  license,  and  as  soon  as  I  should  be  fairly 
launched  in  business,  we  would  be  married. 

"I  now  prosecuted  my  studies  with  redoubled  ardor,  and 
was  up  to  my  ears  in  law,  when  I  received  a  letter  from  my 
father,  who  had  heard  of  me  and  my  whereabouts.  He  ap- 
plauded the  course  I  had  taken,  but  advised  me  to  lay  a  foun- 
dation of  general  knowledge,  and  offered  to  defray  my  expenses, 
if  I  would  go  to  college.  I  felt  the  want  of  a  general  education, 
and  was  staggered  with  this  offer.  It  militated  somewhat 
against  the  self-dependent  course  I  had  so  proudly,  or  rather 
conceitedly,  marked  out  for  myself,  but  it  would  enable  me  to 
enter  more  advantageously  upon  my  legal  career.  I  talked 
over  the  matter  with  the  lovely  girl  to  whom  I  was  engaged. 
She  sided  in  opinion  with  my  father,  and  talked  so  disinter- 
estedly, yet  tenderly,  that  if  possible,  I  loved  her  more  than 
ever.  I  reluctantly,  therefore,  agreed  to  go  to  college  for  a 
couple  of  years,  though  it  must  necessarily  postpone  our 
union. 

"Scarcely  had  I  formed  this  resolution,  when  her  mother 
was  taken  ill,  and  died,  leaving  her  without  a  protector.  This 
again  altered  all  my  plans.  I  felt  as  if  I  could  protect  her.  I 
gave  up  all  idea  of  collegiate  studies;  persuaded  myself  that 
by  dint  of  industry  and  application  I  might  overcome  the 
deficiencies  of  education,  and  resolved  to  take  out  a  license  as 
soon  as  possible. 

"That  very  autumn  I  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  and  within  a 
month  afterward  was  married.  We  were  a  young  couple,  she 
not  much  above  sixteen,  I  not  quite  twenty ;  and  both  almost 
without  a  dollar  in  the  world.  The  establishment  which  we 
set  up  was  suited  to  our  circumstances :  a  log-house,  with  two 
small  rooms ;  a  bed,  a  table,  a  half  dozen  chairs,  a  half  dozen 
knives  and  forks,  a  half  dozen  spoons;  everything  by  half 
dozens;  a  little  delft  ware;  everything  in  a  small  way:  we 
were  so  poor,  but  then  so  happy ! 

"We  had  not  been  married  many  days,  when  court  was  held 
at  a  county  town,  about  twenty-five  miles  distant.  It  was 
necessary  for  me  to  go  there,  and  put  myself  in  the  way  of 
business;  but  how  was  I  to  go  ?  I  had  expended  all  my  means 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.    \±\ 

on  our  establishment ;  and  then  it  was  hard  parting  with  my 
wife  so  soon  after  marriage.  However,  go  I  must.  Money 
must  be  made,  or  we  should  soon  have  the  wolf  at  the  door. 
I  accordingly  borrowed  a  horse,  and  borrowed  a  little  cash, 
and  rode  off  from  my  door,  leaving  my  wife  standing  at  it, 
and  waving  her  hand  after  me.  Her  last  look,  so  sweet  and 
beaming,  went  to  my  heart.  I  felt  as  if  I  could  go  through 
fire  and  water  for  her. 

"I  arrived  at  the  county  town  on  a  cool  October  evening. 
The  inn  was  crowded,  for  the  court  was  to  commence  on  the 
following  day.  I  knew  no  one,  and  wondered  how  I,  a  stranger, 
and  a  mere  youngster,  was  to  make  my  way  in  such  a  crowd, 
and  to  get  business.  The  public  room  was  thronged  with  the 
idlers  of  the  country,  who  gather  together  on  such  occasions. 
There  was  some  drinking  going  forward,  with  much  noise,  and 
a  little  altercation.  Just  as  I  entered  the  room  I  saw  a  rough 
bully  of  a  fellow,  who  was  partly  intoxicated,  strike  an  old 
man.  He  came  swaggering  by  me,  and  elbowed  me  as  he 
passed.  I  immediately  knocked  him  down,  and  kicked  him 
into  the  street.  I  needed  no  better  introduction.  In  a  mo- 
ment I  had  a  dozen  rough  shakes  of  the  hand,  and  invitations 
to  drink,  and  found  myself  quite  a  personage  in  this  rough 
assembly. 

"The  next  morning  the  court  opened.  I  took  my  seat 
among  the  lawyers,  but  felt  as  a  mere  spectator,  not  having 
a  suit  in  progress  or  prospect,  nor  having  any  idea  where  busi- 
ness was  to  come  from.  In  the  course  of  the  morning  a  man 
was  put  at  the  bar,  charged  with  passing  counterfeit  money, 
and  was  asked  if  he  was  ready  for  trial.  He  answered  in  the 
negative.  He  had  been  confined  in  a  place  where  there  were 
no  lawyers,  and  had  not  had  an  opportunity  of  consulting  any. 
He  was  told  to  choose  counsel  from  the  lawyers  present,  and 
to  be  ready  for  trial  on  the  following  day.  He  looked  round 
the  court  and  selected  me.  I  was  thunder-struck.  I  could  not 
tell  why  he  should  make  such  a  choice.  I,  a  beardless  young- 
ster; unpractised  at  the  bar;  perfectly  unknown.  I  felt  diffi- 
dent yet  delighted,  and  could  have  hugged  the  rascal. 

"Before  leaving  the  court  he  gave  me  one  hundred  dollars 
in  a  bag  as  a  retaining  fee.  I  could  scarcely  believe  my  senses; 
it  seemed  like  a  dream.  The  heaviness  of  the  fee  spoke  but 
lightly  in  favor  of  his  innocence,  but  that  was  no  affair  of 
mine.  I  was  to  be  advocate,  not  judge  nor  jury.  I  followed 
him  to  jail,  and  learned  from  him  all  the  particulars  of  his 


142  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

case ;  from  thence  I  went  to  the  clerk's  office  and  took  minutes 
of  the  indictment.  I  then  examined  the  law  on  the  subject, 
and  prepared  my  brief  in  my  room.  All  this  occupied  me 
until  midnight,  when  I  went  to  bed  and  tried  to  sleep.  It  was 
all  in  vain.  Never  in  my  life  was  I  more  wide-awake.  A  host 
of  thoughts  and  fancies  kept  rushing  through  my  mind ;  the 
shower  of  gold  that  had  so  expectedly  fallen  into  my  lap ;  the 
idea  of  my  poor  little  wife  at  home,  that  I  was  to  astonish 
with  my  good  fortune !  But  then  the  awful  responsibility  I 
had  undertaken! — to  speak  for  the  first  time  in  a  strange 
court;  the  expectations  the  culprit  had  evidently  formed  of 
my  talents;  all  these,  and  a  crowd  of  similar  notions,  kept 
whirling  through  my  mind.  I  tossed  about  all  night,  fearing 
the  morning  would  find  me  exhausted  and  incompetent ;  in  a 
word,  the  day  dawned  on  me,  a  miserable  fellow ! 

"I  got  up  feverish  and  nervous.  I  walked  out  before  break- 
fast, striving  to  collect  my  thoughts,  and  tranquillize  my  feel- 
ings. It  was  a  bright  morning;  the  air  was  pure  and  frosty. 
I  bathed  my  forehead  and  my  hands  in  a  beautiful  running 
stream ;  but  I  could  not  allay  the  fever  heat  that  raged  within. 
I  returned  to  breakfast,  but  could  not  eat.  A  single  cup  of 
coffee  formed  my  repast.  It  was  time  to  go  to  court,  and  I 
went  there  with  a  throbbing  heart.  I  believe  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  thoughts  of  my  little  wife,  in  her  lonely  log  house,  I 
should  have  given  back  to  the  man  his  hundred  dollars,  and 
relinquished  the  cause.  I  took  my  seat,  looking,  I  am  con- 
vinced, more  like  a  culprit  than  the  rogue  I  was  to  defend. 

' '  When  the  time  came  for  me  to  speak,  my  heart  died  with- 
in me.  I  rose  embarrassed  and  dismayed,  and  stammered  in 
opening  my  cause.  I  went  on  from  bad  to  worse,  and  felt  as 
if  I  was  going  down  hill.  Just  then  the  public  prosecutor,  a 
man  of  talents,  but  somewhat  rough  in  his  practice,  made  a 
sarcastic  remark  on  something  I  had  said.  It  was  like  an 
electric  spark,  and  ran  tingling  through  every  vein  in  my 
body.  In  an  instant  my  diffidence  was  gone.  My  whole  spirit 
was  in  arms.  I  answered  with  promptness  and  bitterness,  for 
I  felt  the  cruelty  of  such  an  attack  upon  a  novice  in  my  situa- 
tion. The  public  prosecutor  made  a  kind  of  apology;  this, 
from  a  man  of  his  redoubted  powers,  was  a  vast  concession. 
I  renewed  my  argument  with  a  fearless  glow ;  carried  the  case 
through  triumphantly,  and  the  man  was  acquitted. 

' '  This  was  the  making  of  me  Everybody  was  curious  to 
know  who  this  new  lawyer  was,  that  had  thus  suddenly  risen 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RING  WOOD.    143 

among  them,  and  bearded  the  attorney-general  at  the  very 
outset.  The  story  of  my  debut  at  the  inn  on  the  preceding 
evening,  when  I  had  knocked  down  a  bully,  and  kicked  him 
out  of  doors  for  striking  an  old  man,  was  circulated  with 
favorable  exaggerations.  Even  my  very  beardless  chin  and 
juvenile  countenance  were  in  my  favor,  for  people  gave  me 
far  more  credit  than  I  really  deserved.  The  chance  business 
which  occurs  in  our  country  courts  came  thronging  upon  me. 
I  was  repeatedly  employed  in  other  causes ;  and  by  Saturday 
night,  when  the  court  closed,  and  I  had  paid  my  bill  at  the 
inn,  I  found  myself  with  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  in  silver, 
three  hundred  dollars  in  notes,  and  a  horse  that  I  afterward 
sold  for  two  hundred  dollars  more. 

"  Never  did  miser  gloat  on  his  money  with  more  delight.  I 
locked  the  door  of  my  room ;  piled  the  money  in  a  heap  upon 
the  table ;  walked  round  it ;  sat  with  my  elbows  on  the  table, 
and  my  chin  upon  my  hands,  and  gazed  upon  it.  Was  I 
thinking  of  the  money?  No!  I  was  thinking  of  my  little 
wife  at  home.  Another  sleepless  night  ensued;  but  what  a 
night  of  golden  fancies,  and  splendid  air-castles !  As  soon  as 
morning  dawned,  I  was  up,  mounted  the  borrowed  horse  with 
which  I  had  come  to  court,  and  led  the  other  which  I  had  re- 
ceived as  a  fee.  All  the  way  I  was  delighting  myself  with  the 
thoughts  of  the  surprise  I  had  in  store  for  my  little  wife,  for 
both  of  us  had  expected  nothing  but  that  I  should  spend  all 
the  money  I  had  borrowed,  and  should  return  in  debt. 

"  Our  meeting  was  joyous,  as  you  may  suppose:  but  I  played 
the  part  of  the  Indian  hunter,  who,  when  he  returns  from  the 
chase,  never  for  a  time  speaks  of  his  success.  She  had  pre- 
pared a  snug  little  rustic  meal  for  me,  and  while  it  was  getting 
ready  I  seated  myself  at  an  old-fashioned  desk  in  one  corner, 
and  began  to  count  over  my  money,  and  put  it  away.  She 
came  to  me  before  I  had  finished,  and  asked  who  I  had  col- 
lected the  money  for. 

"  'For  myself,  to  be  sure,'  replied  I,  with  affected  coolness; 
'  I  made  it  at  court.' 

"  She  looked  me  for  a  moment  in  the  face,  incredulously.  I 
tried  to  keep  my  countenance,  and  to  play  Indian,  but  it  would 
not  do.  My  muscles  began  to  twitch ;  my  feelings  all  at  once 
gave  way.  I  caught  her  in  my  arms;  laughed,  cried,  and 
danced  about  the  room,  like  a  crazy  man.  From  that  time 
forward,  we  never  wanted  for  money. 

"I  had  not  been  long  in  successful  practice,  when  I  was  sur- 


144  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

prised  one  day  by  a  visit  from  my  woodland  patron,  old  Miller. 
The  tidings  of  my  prosperity  had  reached  him  in  the  wilder- 
ness, and  he  had  walked  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  on  foot 
to  see  me.  By  that  time  I  had  improved  my  domestic  estab- 
lishment, and  had  all  things  comfortable  about  me.  He  looked 
around  him  with  a  wondering  eye,  at  what  he  considered  luxu- 
ries and  superfluities ;  but  supposed  they  were  all  right  in  my 
altered  circumstances.  He  said  he  did  not  know,  upon  the 
whole,  but  that  I  had  acted  for  the  best.  It  is  true,  if  game 
had  continued  plenty,  it  would  have  been  a  folly  for  me  to  quit 
a  hunter's  life;  but  hunting  was  pretty  nigh  done  up  in  Ken- 
tucky. The  buffalo  had  gone  to  Missouri;  the  elk  were  nearly- 
gone  also ;  deer,  too,  were  growing  scarce ;  they  might  last  out 
his  time,  as  he  was  growing  old,  but  they  were  not  worth  set- 
ting up  life  upon.  He  had  once  lived  on  the  borders  of  Vir- 
ginia. Game  grew  scarce  there ;  he  followed  it  up  across  Ken- 
tucky, and  now  it  was  again  giving  him  the  slip ;  but  he  was 
too  old  to  follow  it  farther. 

"  He  remained  with  us  three  days.  My  wife  did  everything 
in  her  power  to  make  him  comfortable ;  but  at  the  end  of  that 
time  he  said  he  must  be  off  again  to  the  woods.  He  was  tired 
of  the  village,  and  of  having  so  many  people  about  him.  He 
accordingly  returned  to  the  wilderness  and  to  hunting  life. 
But  I  fear  he  did  not  make  a  good  end  of  it ;  for  I  understand 
that  a  few  years  before  his  death  he  married  Sukey  Thomas, 
who  lived  at  the  White  Oak  Eun." 


THE  SEMINOLES. 

FROM  the  time  of  the  chimerical  cruisings  of  Old  Ponce  de 
Leon  in  search  of  the  Fountain  of  Youth,  the  avaricious  expe- 
dition of  Pamphilo  de  Narvaez  in  quest  of  gold,  and  the  chival- 
rous enterprise  of  Hernando  de  Soto,  to  discover  and  conquer 
a  second  Mexico,  the  natives  of  Florida  have  been  continually 
subjected  to  the  invasions  and  encroachments  of  white  men. 
They  have  resisted  them  perseveringly  but  fruitlessly,  and  are 
now  battling  amid  swamps  and  morasses  for  the  last  foothold 
of  their  native  soil,  with  all  the  ferocity  of  despair.  Can  we 
wonder  at  the  bitterness  of  a  hostility  that  has  been  handed 
down  from  father  to  son,  for  upward  of  three  centuries,  and 


TBE  SEMttfOttiS,  145 

exasperated  by  the  wrongs  and  miseries  of  each  succeeding 
generation !  The  very  name  of  the  savages  with  whom  we  are 
fighting  betokens  their  fallen  and  homeless  condition.  Formed 
of  the  wrecks  of  once  powerful  tribes,  and  driven  from  their 
ancient  seats  of  prosperity  and  dominion,  they  are  known  by 
the  name  of  the  Seminoles,  or  "Wanderers." 

Bartram,  who  travelled  through  Florida  in  the  latter  part  of 
the  last  century,  speaks  of  passing  through  a  great  extent  of 
ancient  Indian  fields,  now  silent  and  deserted,  overgrown  with 
forests,  orange  groves,  and  rank  vegetation,  the  site  of  the 
ancient  Alachua,  the  capital  of  a  famous  and  powerful  tribe, 
who  in  days  of  old  could  assemble  thousands  at  bull-play  and 
other  athletic  exercises  "over  these  then  happy  fields  and 
green  plains."  "Almost  every  step  we  take,"  adds  he,  "  over 
these  fertile  heights,  discovers  the  remains  and  traces  of 
ancient  human  habitations  and  cultivation." 

About  the  year  1763,  when  Florida  was  ceded  by  the  Span- 
iards to  the  English,  we  are  told  that  the  Indians  generally 
retired  from  the  towns  and  the  neighborhood  of  the  whites, 
and  burying  themselves  in  the  deep  forests,  intricate  swamps 
and  horn  mocks,  and  vast  savannas  of  the  interior,  devoted 
themselves  to  a  pastoral  life,  and  the  rearing  of  horses  and 
cattle.  These  are  the  people  that  received  the  name  of  the 
Seminoles,  or  Wanderers,  which  they  still  retain. 

Bartram  gives  a  pleasing  picture  of  them  at  the  time  he  vis- 
ited them  in  their  wilderness ;  where  their  distance  from  the 
abodes  of  the  white  man  gave  them  a  transient  quiet  and 
security.  "  This  handful  of  people,"  says  he,  "  possesses  a  vast 
territory,  all  East  and  the  greatest  part  of  West  Florida, 
which  being  naturally  cut  and  divided  into  thousands  of 
islets,  knolls,  and  eminences,  by  the  innumerable  rivers,  lakes, 
swamps,  vast  savannas,  and  ponds,  form  so  many  secure  re- 
treats and  temporary  dwelling  places  that  effectually  guard 
them  from  any  sudden  invasions  or  attacks  from  their  ene- 
mies; and  being  thus  a  swampy,  hommocky  country,  fur- 
nishes such  a  plenty  and  variety  of  supplies  for  the  nourish- 
ment of  varieties  of  animals,  that  I  can  venture  to  assert  that 
no  part  of  the  globe  so  abounds  with  wild  game,  or  creatures 
fit  for  the  food  of  man. 

"  Thus  they  enjoy  a  superabundance  of  the  necessaries  and 
conveniences  of  life,  with  the  security  of  person  and  property, 
the  two  great  concerns  of  mankind.  The  hides  of  deer,  bears, 
tigers,  and  wolves,  together  with  honey,  wax,  and  other  pro- 


146  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

ductions  of  the  country,  purchase  their  clothing  equipage  and 
domestic  utensils  from  the  whites.  They  seem  to  be  free  from 
want  or  desires.  No  cruel  enemy  to  dread ;  nothing  to  give 
them  disquietude,  but  the  gradual  encroachments  of  the  white 
people.  Thus  contented  and  undisturbed,  they  appear  as  blithe 
and  free  as  the  birds  of  the  air,  and  like  them  as  volatile  and 
active,  tuneful  and  vociferous.  The  visage,  action,  and  deport- 
ment of  the  Seminoles  form  the  most  striking  picture  of  hap- 
piness in  this  life;  joy,  contentment,  love,  and  friendship, 
without  guile  or  affectation,  seem  inherent  in  them,  or  pre- 
dominant in  their  vital  principle,  for  it  leaves  them  with  but 

the  last  breath  of  life They  are  fond  of  games  and 

gambling,  and  amuse  themselves  like  children,  in  relating 
extravagant  stories,  to  cause  surprise  and  mirth."  * 

The  same  writer  gives  an  engaging  picture  of  his  treatment 
by  these  savages: 

"  Soon  after  entering  the  forests,  we  were  met  in  the  path 
by  a  small  company  of  Indians,  smiling  and  beckoning  to  us 
long  before  we  joined  them.  This  was  a  family  of  Talaha- 
sochte,  who  had  been  out  on  a  hunt  and  were  returning  home 
loaded  with  barbecued  meat,  hides,  and  honey.  Their  company 
consisted  of  the  man,  his  wife  and  children,  well  mounted  on 
fine  horses,  with  a  number  of  pack-horses.  The  man  offered 
us  a  fawn  skin  of  honey,  which  I  accepted,  and  at  parting 
presented  him  with  some  fish-hooks,  sewing-needles,  etc. 

"  On  our  return  to  camp  in  the  evening,  we  were  saluted  by 
a  party  of  young  Indian  warriors,  who  had  pitched  their  tents 
on  a  green  eminence  near  the  lake,  at  a  small  distance  from  our 
camp,  under  a  little  grove  of  oaks  and  palms.  This  company 
consisted  of  seven  young  Seminoles,  under  the  conduct  of  a 
young  prince  or  chief  of  Talahasochte,  a  town  southward  in  the 
isthmus.  They  were  all  dressed  and  painted  with  singular 
elegance,  and  richly  ornamented  with  silver  plates,  chains, 
etc. ,  after  the  Seminole  mode,  with  waving  plumes  of  feathers 
on  their  crests.  On  our  coming  up  to  them,  they  arose  and 
shook  hands ;  we  alighted  and  sat  awhile  with  them  by  their 
cheerful  fire. 

"  The  young  prince  informed  our  chief  that  he  was  in  pur- 
suit of  a  young  fellow  who  had  fled  from  the  town  carrying 
off  with  him  one  of  his  favorite  young  wives.  He  said,  mer- 
rily, he  would  have  the  ears  of  both  of  them  before  he  returned. 

*  Bartram's  Travels  ia  North  America. 


THE  8EM1NOLES.  14t 

He  was  rather  above  the  middle  stature,  and  the  most  perfect 
human  figure  I  ever  saw;  of  an  amiable,  engaging  counte- 
nance, air,  and  deportment ;  free  and  familiar  in  conversation, 
yet  retaining  a  becoming  gracefulness  and  dignity.  We  arose, 
took  leave  of  them,  and  crossed  a  little  vale,  covered  with  a 
charming  green  turf,  already  illuminated  by  the  soft  light  of 
the  full  moon. 

"Soon  after  joining  our  companions  at  camp,  our  neigh- 
bors, the  prince  and  his  associates,  paid  us  a  visit.  We  treated 
them  with  the  best  fare  we  had,  having  till  this  time  preserved 
our  spirituous  liquors.  They  left  us  with  perfect  cordiality 
and  cheerfulness,  wishing  us  a  good  repose,  and  retired  to 
their  own  camp.  Having  a  band  of  music  with  them,  con- 
sisting of  a  drum,  flutes,  and  a  rattle-gourd,  they  entertained 
us  during  the  night  with  their  music,  vocal  and  instrumental. 

There  is  a  languishing  softness  and  melancholy  air  in  the 
Indian  convivial  songs,  especially  of  the  amorous  class,  irre- 
sistibly moving  attention,  and  exquisitely  pleasing,  especially 
in  their  solitary  recesses,  when  all  nature  is  silent." 

Travellers  who  have  been  among  them,  in  more  recent 
times,  before  they  had  embarked  in  their  present  desperate 
struggle,  represent  them  in  much  the  same  light;  as  leading 
a  pleasant,  indolent  life,  in  a  climate  that  required  little 
shelter  or  clothing,  and  where  the  spontaneous  fruits  of  the 
earth  furnished  subsistence  without  toil.  A  cleanly  race,  de- 
lighting in  bathing,  passing  much  of  their  tune  under  the 
shade  of  their  trees,  with  heaps  of  oranges  and  other  fine 
fruits  for  their  refreshment;  talking,  laughing,  dancing  and 
sleeping.  Every  chief  had  a  fan  hanging  to  his  side,  made 
of  feathers  of  the  wild  turkey,  the  beautiful  pink-colored 
crane  or  the  scarlet  flamingo.  With  this  he  would  sit  and  fan 
himself  with  great  stateliness,  while  the  young  people  danced 
before  him.  The  women  joined  in  the  dances  with  the  men, 
excepting  the  war-dances.  They  wore  strings  of  tortoise-shells 
and  pebbles  round  their  legs,  which  rattled  in  cadence  to  the 
music.  They  were  treated  with  more  attention  among  the 
Seminoles  than  among  most  Indian  tribes. 

ORIGIN  OF  THE  WHITE,  THE  RED,  AND  THE  BLACK  MEN. 
A  SEMINOLE  TRADITION. 

WHEN  the  Floridas  were  erected  into  a  territory  of  the 
United  States,  one  of  the  earliest  cares  of  the  Governor, 


148  TU&   URA  YON  PAPERS. 

William  P.  Duval,  was  directed  to  the  instruction  and  civiliza- 
tion of  the  natives.  For  this  purpose  he  called  a  meeting 
of  the  chiefs,  in  which  he  informed  them  of  the  wish  of  their 
Great  Father  at  Washington  that  they  should  have  schools 
and  teachers  among  them,  and  that  their  children  should  be 
instructed  like  the  children  of  white  men.  The  chiefs  listened 
with  their  customary  silence  and  decorum  to  a  long  speech, 
setting  forth  the  advantages  that  would  accrue  to  them  from 
this  measure,  and  when  he  had  concluded,  begged  the  interval 
of  a  day  to  deliberate  on  it. 

On  the  following  day  a  solemn  convocation  was  held,  at 
•which  one  of  the  chiefs  addressed  the  governor  in  the  name  of 
all  the  rest.  "My  brother,"  said  he,  "we  have  been  thinking 
over  the  proposition  of  our  Great  Father  at  Washington,  to 
send  teachers  and  set  up  schools  among  us.  We  are  very 
thankful  for  the  interest  he  takes  in  our  welfare;  but  after 
much  deliberation,  have  concluded  to  decline  his  offer.  What 
will  do  very  well  for  white  men,  will  not  do  for  red  men. 
I  know  you  white  men  say  we  all  come  from  the  same  father 
and  mother,  but  you  are  mistaken.  We  have  a  tradition 
handed  down  from  our  forefathers,  and  we  believe  it,  that  the 
Great  Spirit  when  he  undertook  to  make  men,  made  the  black 
man;  it  was  his  first  attempt,  and  pretty  well  for  a  beginning; 
but  he  soon  saw  he  had  bungled ;  so  he  determined  to  try  his 
hand  again.  He  did  so,  and  made  the  red  man.  He  liked  him 
much  better  than  the  black  man,  but  still  he  was  not  exactly 
what  he  wanted.  So  he  tried  once  more,  and  made  the  white 
man ;  and  then  he  was  satisfied.  You  see,  therefore,  that  you 
were  made  last,  and  that  is  the  reason  I  call  you  my  youngest 
brother. 

"When  the  Great  Spirit  had  made  the  three  men,  he 
called  them  together  and  showed  them  three  boxes.  The  first 
was  filled  with  books,  and  maps,  and  papers ;  the  second  with 
bows  and  arrows,  knives  and  tomahawks;  the  third  with 
spades,  axes,  hoes,  and  hammers.  'These,  my  sons,'  said  he, 
1  are  the  means  by  which  you  are  to  live :  choose  among  them 
according  to  your  fancy.' 

"The  white  man,  being  the  favorite,  had  the  first  choice. 
He  passed  by  the  box  of  working-tools  without  notice;  but 
when  he  came  to  the  weapons  for  war  and  hunting,  he  stopped 
and  looked  hard  at  them.  The  red  man  trembled,  for  he  had 
set  his  heart  upon  that  box.  The  white  man,  however,  after 
looking  upon  it  for  a  moment,  passed  on,  and  chose  the  box 


THE  SEMINOLE8.  149 

of  books  and  papers.  The  red  man's  turn  came  next;  and 
you  may  be  sure  he  seized  with  joy  upon  the  bows  and  ar- 
rows and  tomahawks.  As  to  the  black  man,  he  had  no  choice 
left  but  to  put  up  with  the  box  of  tools. 

"From  this  it  is  clear  that  the  Great  Spirit  intended  the 
white  man  should  learn  to  read  and  write ;  to  understand  all 
about  the  moon  and  stars;  and  to  make  everything,  even 
rum  and  whiskey.  That  the  red  man  should  be  a  first-rate 
hunter,  and  a  mighty  warrior,  but  he  was  not  to  learn  any- 
thing from  books,  as  the  Great  Spirit  had  not  given  him 
any :  nor  was  he  to  make  rum  and  whiskey,  lest  he  should 
kill  himself  with  drinking.  As  to  the  black  man,  as  he  had 
nothing  but  working-tools,  it  was  clear  he  was  to  work  for 
the  white  and  red  man,  which  he  has  continued  to  do. 

"We  must  go  according  to  the  wishes  of  the  Great  Spirit, 
or  we  shall  get  into  trouble.  To  know  how  to  read  and  writs 
is  very  good  for  white  men,  but  very  bad  for  red  men.  It 
makes  white  men  better,  but  red  men  worse.  Some  of  the 
Creeks  and  Cherokees  learned  to  read  and  write,  and  they 
are  the  greatest  rascals  among  all  the  Indians.  They  went 
on  to  Washington,  and  said  they  were  going  to  see  their  Great 
Father,  to  talk  about  the  good  of  the  nation.  And  when 
they  got  there,  they  all  wrote  upon  a  little  piece  of  paper, 
without  the  nation  at  home  knowing  anything  about  it.  And 
the  first  thing  the  nation  at  home  knew  of  the  matter,  they 
were  called  together  by  the  Indian  agent,  who  showed  them  a 
little  piece  of  paper,  which  he  told  them  was  a  treaty,  which 
their  brethren  had  made  in  their  name,  with  their  Great  Father 
at  Washington.  And  as  they  knew  not  what  a  treaty  was,  he 
held  up  the  little  piece  of  paper,  and  they  looked  under  it,  and 
lo !  it  covered  a  great  extent  of  country,  and  they  found  that 
their  brethren,  by  knowing  how  to  read  and  write,  had  sold 
their  houses  and  their  lands  and  the  graves  of  their  fathers ; 
and  that  the  white  man,  by  knowing  how  to  read  and  write, 
had  gained  them.  Tell  our  Great  Father  at  Washington, 
therefore,  that  we  are  very  sorry  we  cannot  receive  teachers 
among  us ;  for  reading  and  writing,  though  very  good  for 
white  men,  is  very  bad  for  the  Indians." 


150  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

THE  CONSPIEACY  OF  NEAMATHLA. 

AN  AUTHENTIC  SKETCH. 

IN  the  autumn  of  1823,  Governor  Duval,  and  other  commis- 
sioners on  the  part  of  the  United  States,  concluded  a  treaty 
with  the  chiefs  and  warriors  of  the  Florida  Indians,  by  which 
the  latter,  for  certain  considerations,  ceded  all  claims  to  the 
whole  territory,  excepting  a  district  in  the  eastern  part,  to 
which  they  were  to  remove,  and  within  which  they  were  to 
eside  for  twenty  years.  Several  of  the  chiefs  signed  the 
treaty  with  great  reluctance;  but  none  opposed  it  more 
strongly  than  Neamathla,  principal  chief  of  the  Mickasookies, 
a  fierce  and  warlike  people,  many  of  them  Creeks  by  origin, 
who  lived  about  the  Mickasookie  lake.  Neamathla  had  always 
been  active  in  those  depredations  on  the  frontiers  of  Georgia, 
which  had  brought  vengeance  and  ruin  on  the  Seminoles.  He 
was  a  remarkable  man ;  upward  of  sixty  years  of  age,  about 
six  feet  high,  with  a  fine  eye,  and  a  strongly  marked  counte- 
nance, over  which  he  possessed  great  command.  His  hatred 
of  the  white  men  appeared  to  be  mixed  with  contempt :  on  the 
common  people  he  looked  down  with  infinite  scorn.  He 
seemed  unwilling  to  acknowledge  any  superiority  of  rank  or 
dignity  in  Governor  Duval,  claiming  to  associate  with  him  on 
terms  of  equality,  as  two  great  chieftains.  Though  he  had 
been  prevailed  upon  to  sign  the  treaty,  his  heart  revolted  at  it. 
In  one  of  his  frank  conversations  with  Governor  Duval,  he 
observed:  "  This  country  belongs  to  the  red  man;  and  if  I  had 
the  number  of  warriors  at  my  command  that  this  nation  once 
had,  I  would  not  leave  a  white  man  on  my  lands.  I  would 
exterminate  the  whole.  I  can  say  this  to  you,  for  you  can 
understand  me;  you  are  a  man;  but  I  would  not  say  it  to  your 
people.  They'd  cry  out  I  was  a  savage,  and  would  take  my 
life.  They  cannot  appreciate  the  feelings  of  a  man  that  loves 
his  country." 

As  Florida  had  but  recently  been  erected  into  a  territory, 
everything  as  yet  was  in  rude  and  simple  style.  The  gover- 
nor, to  make  himself  acquainted  with  the  Indians,  and  to  be 
near  at  hand  to  keep  an  eye  upon  them,  fixed  his  residence  at 
Tallahassee,  near  the  Fowel  towns,  inhabited  by  the  Micka- 
sookies.  His  government  palace  for  a  time  was  a  mere  log 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  NEAMATHLA.  1£1 

house,  and  he  lived  on  hunters'  fare.  The  village  of  Neamath- 
la  was  but  about  three  miles  off,  and  thither  the  governor  oc- 
casionally rode,  to  visit  the  old  chieftain.  In  one  of  these  visits 
he  found  Neamathla  seated  hi  his  wigwam,  in  the  centre  of 
the  village,  surrounded  by  his  warriors.  The  governor  had 
brought  him  some  liquor  as  a  present,  but  it  mounted  quickly 
into  his  brain,  and  rendered  him  quite  boastful  and  belligerent. 
The  theme  ever  uppermost  in  his  mind,  was  the  treaty  with 
the  whites.  "It  was  true,"  he  said,  "the  red  men  had  made 
such  a  treaty,  but  the  white  men  had  not  acted  up  to  it.  The 
red  men  had  received  none  of  the  money  and  the  cattle  that 
had  been  promised  them :  the  treaty,  therefore,  was  at  an  end, 
and  they  did  not  intend  to  be  bound  by  it." 

Governor  Duval  calmly  represented  to  him  that  the  tune 
appointed  in  the  treaty  for  the  payment  and  delivery  of  the 
money  and  the  cattle  had  not  yet  arrived.  This  the  old  chief- 
tain knew  full  well,  but  he  chose,  for  the  moment,  to  pretend 
ignorance.  He  kept  on  drinking  and  talking,  his  voice  grow- 
ing louder  and  louder,  until  it  resounded  all  over  the  village. 
He  held  in  his  hand  a  long  knife,  with  which  he  had  been 
rasping  tobacco;  this  he  kept  flourishing  backward  and  for- 
ward, as  he  talked,  by  way  of  giving  effect  to  his  words, 
brandishing  it  at  times  within  an  inch  of  the  governor's  throat. 
He  concluded  his  tirade  by  repeating,  that  the  country  be- 
longed to  the  red  men,  and  that  sooner  than  give  it  up,  his 
bones  and  the  bones  of  his  people  should  bleach  upon  its  soil. 

Duval  saw  that  the  object  of  all  this  bluster  was  to  see 
whether  he  could  be  intimidated.  He  kept  his  eye,  therefore, 
fixed  steadily  on  the  chief,  and  the  moment  he  concluded  with 
his  menace,  seized  him  by5  the  bosom  of  his  hunting-shirt,  and 
clinching  his  other  fist : 

"  I've  heard  what  you  have  said,"  replied  he.  "You  have 
made  a  treaty,  yet  you  say  your  bones  shall  bleach  before 
you  comply  with  it.  As  sure  as  there  is  a  sun  in  heaven,  your 
bones  shall  bleach,  if  you  do  not  fulfil  every  article  of  that 
treaty !  I'll  let  you  know  that  I  am  first  here,  and  will  see  that 
you  do  your  duty !" 

Upon  this,  the  old  chieftain  threw  himself  back,  burst  into  a 
fit  of  laughing,  and  declared  that  all  he  had  said  was  in  joke. 
The  governor  suspected,  however,  that  there  was  a  grave 
meaning  at  the  bottom  of  this  jocularity. 

For  two  months,  everything  went  on  smoothly :  the  Indians 
repaired  daily  to  the  log-cabin  palace  of  the  governor,  at  Talla- 


152  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

hassee,  and  appeared  perfectly  contented.  All  at  once  they 
ceased  their  visits,  and  for  three  or  four  days  not  one  was  to 
be  seen.  Governor  Duval  began  to  apprehend  that  some  mis- 
chief was  brewing.  On  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day  a  chief 
named  Yellow-Hair,  a  resolute,  intelligent  fellow,  who  had 
always  evinced  an  attachment  for  the  governor,  entered  his 
cabin  about  twelve  o'clock  at  night,  and  informed  him  that 
between  four  and  five  hundred  warriors,  painted  and  deco- 
rated, were  assembled  to  hold  a  secret  war-talk  at  Neamathla's 
town.  He  had  slipped  off  to  give  intelligence,  at  the  risk  of  his 
life,  and  hastened  back  lest  his  absence  should  be  discovered. 

Governor  Duval  passed  an  anxious  night  after  this  intelli- 
gence. He  knew  the  talent  and  the  daring  character  of  Nea- 
mathla;  he  recollected  the  threats  he  had  thrown  out;  he 
reflected  that  about  eighty  white  families  were  scattered  wide- 
ly apart,  over  a  great  extent  of  country,  and  might  be  swept 
away  at  once,  should  the  Indians,  as  he  feared,  determine  to 
clear  the  country.  That  he  did  not  exaggerate  the  dangers  of 
the  case,  has  been  proved  by  the  horrid  scenes  of  Indian -war- 
fare that  have  since  desolated  that  devoted  region.  After  a 
night  of  sleepless  cogitation,  Duval  determined  on  a  measure 
suited  to  his  prompt  and  resolute  character.  Knowing  the 
admiration  of  the  savages  for  personal  courage,  he  determined, 
by  a  sudden  surprise,  to  endeavor  to  overawe  and  check  them. 
It  was  hazarding  much ;  but  where  so  many  lives  were  in  jeop- 
ardy, he  felt  bound  to  incur  the  hazard. 

Accordingly,  on  the  next  morning,  he  set  off  on  horseback, 
attended  merely  by  a  white  man,  who  had  been  reared  among 
the  Seminoles,  and  understood  their  language  and  manners, 
and  who  acted  as  interpreter.  They  struck  into  an  Indian 
"trail,"  leading  to  Neamathla's  village.  After  proceeding 
about  half  a  mile,  Governor  Duval  informed  the  interpreter 
of  the  object  of  his  expedition.  The  latter,  though  a  bold  man, 
paused  and  remonstrated.  The  Indians  among  whom  they 
were  going  were  among  the  most  desperate  and  discontented 
of  the  nation.  Many  of  them  were  veteran  warriors,  impover- 
ished and  exasperated  by  defeat,  and  ready  to  set  their  lives  at 
any  hazard.  He  said  that  if  they  were  holding  a  war  council, 
it  must  be  with  desperate  intent,  and  it  would  be  certain  death 
to  intrude  among  them. 

Duval  made  light  of  his  'apprehensions:  he  said  he  was 
perfectly  well  acquainted  with  the  Indian  character,  and 
should  certainly  proceed.  So  saying,  he  rode  on.  When 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  NEAMATHLA.  153 

within  half  a  mile  of  the  village,  the  interpreter  addressed  him 
again,  in  such  a  tremulous  tone  that  Duval  turned  and  looked 
him  in  the  face.  He  was  deadly  pale,  and  once  more  urged  the 
governor  to  return,  as  they  would  certainly  be  massacred  if 
they  proceeded. 

Duval  repeated  his  determination  to  go  on,  but  advised  the 
other  to  return,  lest  his  pale  face  should  betray  fear  to  the 
Indians,  and  they  might  take  advantage  of  it.  The  interpreter 
replied  that  he  would  rather  die  a  thousand  deaths  than  have 
it  said  he  had  deserted  his  leader  when  in  peril. 

Duval  then  told  him  he  most  translate  faithfully  all  he 
should  say  to  the  Indians,  without  softening  a  word.  The 
interpreter  promised  faithfully  to  do  so,  adding  that  he  well 
knew,  when  they  were  once  in  the  town,  nothing  but  boldness 
could  save  them. 

They  now  rode  into  the  village,  and  advanced  to  the  council- 
house.  This  was  rather  a  group  of  four  houses,  forming  a 
square,  in  the  centre  of  which  was  a  great  council-fire.  The 
houses  were  open  in  front,  toward  the  fire,  and  closed  in  the 
rear.  At  each  corner  of  the  square  there  was  an  interval 
between  the  houses,  for  ingress  and  egress.  In  these  houses 
sat  the  old  men  and  the  chiefs ;  the  young  men  were  gathered 
round  the  fire.  Neamathla  presided  at  the  council,  elevated  on 
a  higher  seat  than  the  rest. 

Governor  Duval  entered  by  one  of  the  corner  intervals,  and 
rode  boldly  into  the  centre  of  the  square.  The  young  men 
made  way  for  him ;  an  old  man  who  was  speaking,  paused  in 
the  midst  of  his  harangue.  In  an  instant  thirty  or  forty  rifles 
were  cocked  and  levelled.  Never  had  Duval  heard  so  loud  a 
click  of  triggers :  it  seemed  to  strike  to  his  heart.  He  gave  one 
glance  at  the  Indians,  and  turned  off  with  an  air  of  contempt. 
He  did  not  dare,  he  says,  to  look  again,  lest  it  might  affect 
his  nerves;  and  on  the  firmness  of  his  nerves  everything 
depended. 

The  chief  threw  up  his  arm.  The  rifles  were  lowered.  Duval 
breathed  more  freely :  he  felt  disposed  to  leap  from  his  horse, 
but  restrained  himself,  and  dismounted  leisurely.  He  then 
walked  deliberately  up  to  Neamathla,  and  demanded,  in  an 
authoritative  tone,  what  were  his  motives  for  holding  that 
council.  The  moment  he  made  this  demand,  the  orator  sat 
down.  The  chief  made  no  reply,  but  hung  his  head  in  appar- 
ent confusion.  After  a  moment's  pause,  Duval  proceeded : 

"I  am  well  aware  of  the  meaning  of  this  war-council;  and 


154  TEE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

deem  it  my  duty  to  warn  you  against  prosecuting  the  schemes 
you  have  been  devising.  If  a  single  hair  of  a  white  man  in 
this  country  falls  to  the  ground,  I  will  hang  you  and  your 
chiefs  on  the  trees  around  your  council-house !  You  cannot 
pretend  to  withstand  the  power  of  the  white  men.  You  are  in 
the  palm  of  the  hand  of  your  Great  Father  at  Washington, 
who  can  crush  you  like  an  egg-shell.  You  may  kill  me :  I  am 
but  one  man ;  but  recollect,  white  men  are  numerous  as  the 
leaves  on  the  trees.  Remember  the  fate  of  your  warriors 
whose  bones  are  whitening  in  battle-fields.  Eemember  your 
wives  and  children  who  perished  in  swamps.  Do  you  want  to 
provoke  more  hostilities?  Another  war  with  the  white  men, 
and  there  will  not  be  a  Seminole  left  to  tell  the  story  of  his 
race." 

Seeing  the  effect  of  his  words,  he  concluded  by  appointing  a 
day  for  the  Indians  to  meet  him  at  St.  Marks,  and  give  an 
account  of  their  conduct.  He  then  rode  off,  without  giving 
them  time  to  recover  from  their  surprise.  That  night  he  rode 
forty  miles  to  Apalachicola  Eiver,  to  the  tribe  of  the  same 
name,  who  were  in  feud  with  the  Seminoles.  They  promptly 
put  two  hundred  and  fifty  warriors  at  his  disposal,  whom  he 
ordered  to  be  at  St.  Marks  at  the  appointed  day.  He  sent  out 
runners,  also,  and  mustered  one  hundred  of  the  militia  to  repair 
to  the  same  place,  together  with  a  number  of  regulars  from  the 
army.  All  his  arrangements  were  successful. 

Having  taken  these  measures,  he  returned  to  Tallahassee,  to 
the  neighborhood  of  the  conspirators,  to  show  them  that  he  was 
not  afraid.  Here  he  ascertained,  through  Yellow-Hair,  that 
nine  towns  were  disaffected,  and  had  been  concerned  in  the 
conspiracy.  He  was  careful  to  inform  himself,  from  the  same 
source,  of  the  names  of  the  warriors  in  each  of  those  towns  who 
were  most  popular,  though  poor,  and  destitute  of  rank  and 
command. 

When  the  appointed  day  was  at  hand  for  the  meeting  at  St. 
Marks,  Governor  Duval  set  off  with  Neamathla,  who  was  at 
the  head  of  eight  or  nine  hundred  warriors,  but  who  feared  to 
venture  into  the  fort  without  him.  As  they  entered  the  fort, 
and  saw  troops  and  militia  drawn  up  there,  and  a  force  of  Apa- 
lachicola soldiers  stationed  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river, 
they  thought  they  were  betrayed,  and  were  about  to  fly ;  but 
Duval  assured  them  they  were  safe,  and  that  when  the  talk 
was  over,  they  might  go  home  unmolested. 

A  grand  talk  was  now  held,  in  which  the  late  conspiracy  was 


LETTER  FROM  GRANADA.  155 

discussed.  As  he  had  foreseen,  Neamathla  and  the  other  old 
chiefs  threw  all  the  blame  upon  the  young  men.  "  Well," 
replied  Duval,  "with  us  white  men,  when  we  find  a  man 
incompetent  to  govern  those  under  him,  we  put  him  down,  and 
appoint  another  in  his  place.  Now,  as  you  all  acknowledge 
you  cannot  manage  your  young  men,  we  must  put  chiefs  over 
them  who  can." 

So  saying,  he  deposed  Neamathla  first;  appointing  another 
in  his  place ;  and  so  on  with  all  the  rest :  taking  care  to  sub- 
stitute the  warriors  who  had  been  pointed  out  to  him  as  poor 
and  popular ;  putting  medals  round  their  necks,  and  investing 
them  with  great  ceremony.  The  Indians  were  surprised  and 
delighted  at  finding  the  appointments  fall  upon  the  very  men 
they  would  themselves  have  chosen,  and  hailed  them  with 
acclamations.  The  warriors  thus  unexpectedly  elevated  to 
command,  and  clothed  with  dignity,  were  secured  to  the  inter- 
ests of  the  governor,  and  sure  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  disaffected. 
As  to  the  great  chief  Neamathla,  he  left  the  country  in  disgust, 
and  returned  to  the  Creek  nation,  who  elected  him  a  chief  of 
one  of  their  towns.  Thus  by  the  resolute  spirit  and  prompt 
sagacity  of  one  man,  a  dangerous  conspiracy  was  completely 
defeated.  Governor  Duval  was  afterward  enabled  to  remove 
the  whole  nation,  through  his  own  personal  influence,  without 
the' aid  of  the  general  government. 


To  the  Editor  of  the  Knickerbocker. 

SIR:  The  following  letter  was  scribbled  to  a  friend  during 
my  sojourn  in  the  Alhambra,  in  1828.  As  it  presents  scenes 
and  impressions  noted  down  at  the  time,  I  venture  to  offer  it 
for  the  consideration  of  your  readers.  Should  it  prove  accep- 
table, I  may  from  time  to  time  give  other  letters,  written  in  the 
course  of  my  various  ramblings,  and  which  have  been  kindly 
restored  to  me  by  my  friends.  Yours,  G.  C. 

LETTER  FROM  GRANADA. 

GRANADA,  1828. 

MY  DEAR :  Religious  festivals  furnish,  in  all  Catholic 

countries,  occasions  of  popular  pageant  and  recreation ;  but  in 
none  more  so  than  in  Spain,  where  the  great  end  of  religion 


156  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

seems  to  be  to  create  holidays  and  ceremonials.  For  two  days 
past,  Granada  has  been  in  a  gay  turmoil  with  the  great  annual 
fete  of  Corpus  Christi.  This  most  eventful  and  romantic  city, 
as  you  well  know,  has  ever  been  the  rallying  point  of  a  moun- 
tainous region,  studded  with  small  towns  and  villages.  Hither, 
during  the  time  that  Granada  was  the  splendid  capital  of  a 
Moorish  kingdom,  the  Moslem  youth  repaired  from  all  points, 
to  participate  in  chivalrous  festivities;  and  hither  the  Spanish 
populace  at  the  present  day  throng  from  all  parts  of  the  sur- 
rounding country  to  attend  the  festivals  of  the  church. 

As  the  populace  like  to  enjoy  things  from  the  very  com- 
mencement, the  stir  of  Corpus  Christi  began  in  Granada  on  the 
preceding  evening.  Before  dark  the  gates  of  the  city  were 
thronged  with  the  picturesque  peasantry  from  the  mountain 
villages,  and  the  brown  laborers  from  the  Vega,  or  vast  fertile 
plain.  As  the  evening  advanced,  the  Vivarambla  thickened 
and  swarmed  with  a  motley  multitude.  This  is  the  great 
square  in  the  centre  of  the  city,  famous  for  tilts  and  tourneys 
during  the  time  of  Moorish  domination,  and  incessantly  men- 
tioned in  all  the  old  Moorish  ballads  of  love  and  chivalry.  For 
several  days  the  hammer  had  resounded  throughout  this 
square.  A  gallery  of  wood  had  been  erected  all  round  it,  form- 
ing a  covered  way  for  the  grand  procession  of  Corpus  Christi. 
On  this  eve  of  the  ceremonial  this  gallery  was  a  fashionable 
promenade.  It  was  brilliantly  illuminated,  bands  of  music 
were  stationed  in  balconies  on  the  four  sides  of  the  square,  and 
all  the  fashion  and  beauty  of  Granada,  and  all  its  population 
that  could  boast  a  little  finery  of  apparel,  together  with  the 
majos  and  majos,  the  beaux  and  belles  of  .the  villages,  in  their 
gay  Andalusian  costumes,  thronged  this  covered  walk,  anxious 
to  see  and  to  be  seen.  As  to  the  sturdy  peasantry  of  the  Vega, 
and  such  of  the  mountaineers  as  did  not  pretend  to  display,  but 
were  content  with  hearty  enjoyment,  they  swarmed  in  the 
centre  of  the  square ;  some  in  groups  listening  to  the  guitar  and 
the  traditional  ballad;  some  dancing  their  favorite  bolero; 
some  seated  on  the  ground  making  a  merry  though  frugal 
supper;  and  some  stretched  out  for  then-  night's  repose. 

The  gay  crowd  of  the  gallery  dispersed  gradually  toward 
midnight;  but  the  centre  of  the  square  resembled  the  bivouac 
of  an  army ;  for  hundreds  of  the  peasantry,  men,  women,  and 
children,  passed  the  night  there,  sleeping  soundly  on  the  bare 
earth,  under  the  open  canopy  of  heaven.  A  summer's  night 
requires  no  shelter  in  this  genial  climate;  and  with  a  great 


LETTER  FROM  GRANADA.  157 

part  of  the  hardy  peasantry  of  Spain,  a  bed  is  a  superfluity 
which  many  of  them  never  enjoy,  and  which  they  affect  to 
despise.  The  common  Spaniard  spreads  out  his  manta,  or 
mule-cloth,  or  wraps  himself  in  his  cloak,  and  lies  on  the 
ground,  with  his  saddle  for  a  pillow. 

The  next  morning  I  revisited  the  square  at  sunrise.  It  was 
still  strewed  with  groups  of  sleepers ;  some  were  reposing  from 
the  dance  and  revel  of  the  evening ;  others  had  left  their  vil- 
lages after  work,  on  the  preceding  day,  and  having  trudged  on 
foot  the  greater  part  of  the  night,  were  taking  a  sound  sleep  to 
freshen  them  for  the  festivities  of  the  day.  Numbers  from  the 
mountains,  and  the  remote  villages  of  the  plain,  who  had  set 
out  in  the  night,  continued  to  arrive,  with  their  wives  and 
children.  All  were  in  high  spirits;  greeting  each  other,  and 
exchanging  jokes  and  pleasantries.  The  gay  tumult  thickened 
as  the  day  advanced.  Now  came  pouring  in  at  the  city  gates, 
and  parading  through  the  streets,  the  deputations  from  the 
various  villages,  destined  to  swell  the  grand  procession.  These 
village  deputations  were  headed  by  their  priests,  bearing  their 
respective  crosses  and  banners,  and  images  of  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin and  of  patron  saints;  all  which  were  matters  of  great 
rivalship  and  jealousy  among  the  peasantry.  It  was  like  the 
chivalrous  gatherings  of  ancient  days,  when  each  town  and 
village  sent  its  chiefs,  and  warriors,  and  standards,  to  defend 
the  capital,  or  grace  its  festivities. 

At  length,  all  these  various  detachments  congregated  into 
one  grand  pageant,  which  slowly  paraded  round  the  Viva- 
rambla,  and  through  the  principal  streets,  where  every  window 
and  balcony  was  hung  with  tapestry.  In  this  procession  were 
all  the  religious  orders,  the  civil  and  military  authorities,  and 
the  chief  people  of  the  parishes  and  villages ;  every  church  and 
convent  had  contributed  its  banners,  its  images,  its  reliques, 
and  poured  forth  its  wealth,  for  the  occasion.  In  the  centre 
of  the  procession  walked  the  archbishop,  under  a  damask  can- 
opy, and  surrounded  by  inferior  dignitaries  and  their  depen- 
dants. The  whole  moved  to  the  swell  and  cadence  of  numerous 
bands  of  music,  and,  passing  through  the  midst  of  a  countless 
yet  silent  multitude,  proceeded  onward  to  the  cathedral. 

I  could  not  but  be  struck  with  the  changes  of  times  and  cus- 
toms, as  I  saw  this  monkish  pageant  passing  through  the 
Vivarambla,  the  ancient  seat  of  modern  pomp  and  chivalry. 
The  contrast  was  indeed  forced  upon  the  mind  by  the  decora- 
tions of  the  square.  The  whole  front  of  the  wooden  gallery 


158  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

erected  for  the  procession,  extending  several  hundred  feet,  was 
faced  with  canvas,  on  which  some  humble  though  patriotic 
artist  had  painted,  by  contract,  a  series  of  the  principal  scenes 
and  exploits  of  the  conquest,  as  recorded  in  chronicle  and 
romance.  It  is  thus  the  romantic  legends  of  Granada  mingle 
themselves  with  everything,  and  are  kept  fresh  in  the  public 
mind.  Another  great  festival  at  Granada,  answering  in  its 
popular  character  to  our  Fourth  of  July,  is  El  Diet  de  la  Toma ; 
"  The  Day  of  the  Capture;"  that  is  to  say,  the  anniversary  of 
the  capture  of  the  city  by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  On  this 
day  all  Granada  is  abandoned  to  revelry.  The  alarm  bell  on 
the  Terre  de  la  Campana,  or  watch-tower  of  the  Alhambra, 
keeps  up  a  clangor  from  morn  till  night;  and  happy  is  the 
damsel  that  can  ring  that  bell ;  it  is  a  charm  to  secure  a  hus 
band  in  the  course  of  the  year. 

The  sound,  which  can  be  heard  over  the  whole  Vega,  and  to 
the  top  of  the  mountains,  summons  the  peasantry  to  the  fes- 
tivities. Throughout  the  day  the  Alhambra  is  thrown  open  to 
the  public.  The  halls  and  courts  of  the  Moorish  monarchs 
resound  with  the  guitar  and  Castanet,  and  gay  groups,  in  the 
fanciful  dresses  of  Andalusia,  perform  those  popular  dances 
which  they  have  inherited  from  the  Moors. 

In  the  meantime  a  grand  procession  moves  through  the  city. 
The  banner  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  that  precious  relique  of 
the  conquest,  is  brought  forth  from  its  depository,  and  borne 
by  the  Alferez  Mayor,  or  grand  standard-bearer,  through  the 
principal  streets.  The  portable  camp-altar,  which  was  carried 
about  with  them  in  all  their  campaigns,  is  transported  into  the 
chapel  royal,  and  placed  before  then-  sepulchre,  where  their 
effigies  he  in  monumental  marble.  The  procession  fills  the 
chapel.  High  mass  is  performed  in  memory  of  the  conquest ; 
and  at  a  certain  part  of  the  ceremony  the  Alferez  Mayor  puts 
on  his  hat,  and  waves  the  standard  above  the  tomb  of  the  con- 
querors. 

A  more  whimsical  memorial  of  the  conquest  is  exhibited  on 
the  same  evening  at  the  theatre,  where  a  popular  drama  is 
performed,  entitled  Ave  Maria.  This  turns  on  the  oft-sung 
achievement  of  Hernando  del  Pulgar,  surnamed  El  de  las 
Hazanas,  "He  of  the  Exploits,"  the  favorite  hero  of  the  popu- 
lace of  Granada. 

During  the  time  that  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  besieged  the 
city,  the  young  Moorish  and  Spanish  knights  vied  with  each 
other  in  extravagant  bravados.  On  one  occasion  Hernando  del 


LETTER  FROM  GRANADA.  159 

Pulgar,  at  the  head  of  a  handful  of  youthful  followers,  made  a 
dash  into  Granada  at  the  dead  of  night,  nailed  the  inscription 
of  Ave  Maria,  with  his  dagger,  to  the  gate  of  the  principal 
mosque,  as  a  token  of  having  consecrated  it  to  the  virgin,  and 
effected  his  retreat  in  safety. 

While  the  Moorish  cavaliers  admired  this  daring  exploit, 
they  felt  bound  to  revenge  it.  On  the  following  day,  therefore, 
Tarfe,  one  of  the  stoutest  of  the  infidel  warriors,  paraded  in 
front  of  the  Christian  army,  dragging  the  sacred  inscription  of 
Ave  Maria  at  his  horse's  tail.  The  cause  of  the  Virgin  was 
eagerly  vindicated  by  Garcilaso  de  la  Vega,  who  slew  the  Moor 
in  single  combat,  and  elevated  the  inscription  of  Ave  Maria,  in 
devotion  and  triumph,  at  the  end  of  his  lance. 

The  drama  founded  on  this  exploit  is  prodigiously  popular 
with  the  common  people.  Although  it  has  been  acted  time  out 
of  mind,  and  the  people  have  seen  it  repeatedly,  it  never  fails 
to  draw  crowds,  and  so  completely  to  engross  the  feelings  of 
the  audience,  as  to  have  almost  the  effect  on  them  of  reality. 
When  their  favorite  Pulgar  strides  about  with  many  a  mouthy 
speech,  in  the  very  midst  of  the  Moorish  capital,  he  is  cheered 
with  enthusiastic  bravos ;  and  when  he  nails  the  tablet  of  Ave 
Maria  to  the  door  of  the  mosque,  the  theatre  absolutely  shakes 
with  shouts  and  thunders  of  applause.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
actors  who  play  the  part  of  the  Moors,  have  to  bear  the  brunt 
of  the  temporary  indignation  of  their  auditors ;  and  when  the 
infidel  Tarfe  plucks  down  the  tablet  to  tie  it  to  his  horse's  tail, 
many  of  the  people  absolutely  rise  in  fury,  and  are  ready  to 
jump  upon  the  stage  to  revenge  this  insult  to  the  Virgin. 

Beside  this  annual  festival  at  the  capital,  almost  every  vil- 
lage of  the  Vega  and  the  mountains  has  its  own  anniversary, 
wherein  its  own  deliverance  from  the  Moorish  yoke  is  cele- 
brated with  uncouth  ceremony  and  rustic  pomp. 

On  these  occasions  a  kind  of  resurrection  takes  place  of 
ancient  Spanish  dresses  and  armor ;  great  two-handed  swords, 
ponderous  arquebuses,  with  match-locks,  and  other  weapons 
and  accoutrements,  once  the  equipments  of  the  village  chiv- 
alry, and  treasured  up  from  generation  to  generation,  since 
the  time  of  the  conquest.  In  these  hereditary  and  historical 
garbs  some  of  the  most  sturdy  of  the  villagers  array  themselves 
as  champions  of  the  faith,  while  its  ancient  opponents  are  rep 
resented  by  another  band  of  villagers,  dressed  up  as  Moorish 
warriors.  A  tent  is  pitched  in  the  public  square  of  the  village, 
within  which  is  an  altar,  aijd  an  image  of  the  Virgin.  The 


160  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

Spanish  warriors  approach  to  perform  their  devotions  at  this 
shrine,  but  are  opposed  by  the  infidel  Moslems,  who  surround 
the  tent.  A  mock  fight  succeeds,  in  the  course  of  which  the 
combatants  sometimes  forget  that  they  are  merely  playing  a 
part,  and  exchange  dry  blows  of  grievous  weight ;  the  fictitious 
Moors  especially  are  apt  to  bear  away  pretty  evident  marks  of 
the  pious  zeal  of  their  antagonists.  The  contest,  however,  in- 
variably terminates  in  favor  of  the  good  cause.  The  Moors 
are  defeated  and  taken  prisoners.  The  image  of  the  Virgin, 
rescued  from  thraldom,  is  elevated  in  triumph ;  and  a  grand 
procession  succeeds,  in  which  the  Spanish  conquerors  figure 
with  great  vain-glory  and  applause,  and  their  captives  are  led 
in  chains,  to  the  infinite  delight  and  edification  of  the  populace. 
These  annual  festivals  are  the  delight  of  the  villagers,  who  ex- 
pend considerable  sums  in  their  celebration.  In  some  villages 
they  are  occasionally  obliged  to  suspend  them  for  want  of 
funds;  but  when  times  grow  better,  or  they  have  been  enabled 
to  save  money  for  the  purpose,  they  are  revived  with  all  their 
grotesque  pomp  and  extravagance. 

To  recur  to  the  exploit  of  Hernando  del  Pulgar.  However 
extravagant  and  fabulous  it  may  seem,  it  is  authenticated  by 
certain  traditional  usages,  and  shows  the  vain-glorious  daring 
that  prevailed  between  the  youthful  warriors  of  both  nations, 
in  that  romantic  war.  The  mosque  thus  consecrated  to  the 
Virgin  was  made  the  cathedral  of  the  city  after  the  conquest ; 
and  there  is  a  painting  of  the  Virgin  beside  the  royal  chapel, 
which  was  put  there  by  Hernando  del  Pulgar.  The  lineal  rep- 
resentative of  the  hare-brained  cavalier  has  the  right  to  this 
day  to  enter  the  church,  on  certain  occasions,  on  horseback,  to 
sit  within  the  choir,  and  to  put  on  his  hat  at  the  elevation  of 
the  host,  though  these  privileges  have  often  been  obstinately 
contested  by  the  clergy. 

The  present  lineal  representative  of  Hernando  del  Pulgar  is 
the  Marquis  de  Salar,  whom  I  have  met  occasionally  in  society. 
He  is  a  young  man  of  agreeable  appearance  and  manners,  and 
his  bright  black  eyes  would  give  indication  of  his  inheriting 
the  fire  of  his  ancestor.  When  the  paintings  were  put  up  in 
the  Vivarambla,  illustrating  the  scenes  of  the  conquest,  an  old 
gray-headed  family  servant  of  the  Pulgars  was  so  delighted 
with  those  which  related  to  the  family  hero,  that  he  absolutely 
shed  tears,  and  hurrying  home  to  the  Marquis,  urged  bim  to 
hasten  and  behold  the  family  trophies.  The  sudden  zeal  of  the 
old  man  provoked  the  mirth,  of  bis  young  master;  upon  which 


ABDEEAHMAN.  161 

turning  to  the  brother  of  the  Marquis,  with  that  freedom 
allowed  to  family  servants  in  Spain,  "  Come,  Senor,"  cried  he, 
"you  are  more  grave  and  considerate  than  your  brother; 
come  and  see  your  ancestor  in  all  his  glory !" 


Within  two  or  three  years  after  the  above  letter  was  written, 
the  Marquis  de  Salar  was  married  to  the  beautiful  daughter  of 

the  Count ,  mentioned  by  the  author  in  his  anecdotes  of 

the  Alhambra.    The  match  was  very  agreeable  to  all  parties, 
and  the  nuptials  were  celebrated  with  great  festivity. 


A  RDF/RAHMAN : 
FOUNDER  OF  THE  DYNASTY  OF  THE  OMMIADES  IN  SPAIN. 

To  the  Editor  of  the  Knickerbocker. 

SIR  :  In  the  following  memoir  I  have  conformed  to  the  facts 
furnished  by  the  Arabian  chroniclers,  as  cited  by  the  learned 
Conde.  The  story  of  Abderahman  has  almost  the  charm  of 
romance ;  but  it  derives  a  higher  interest  from  the  heroic  yet 
gentle  virtues  which  it  illustrates,  and  from  recording  the  for- 
tunes of  the  founder  of  that  splendid  dynasty,  which  shed  such 
a  lustre  upon  Spain  during  the  domination  of  the  Arabs.  Ab- 
derahman may,  in  some  respects,  be  compared  to  our  own 
Washington.  He  achieved  the  independence  of  Moslem  Spain, 
freeing  it  from  subjection  to  the  caliphs ;  he  united  its  jarring 
parts  under  one  government;  he  ruled  over  it  with  justice, 
clemency,  and  moderation ;  his  whole  course  of  conduct  was 
distinguished  by  wonderful  forbearance  and  magnanimity ;  and 
when  he  died  he  left  a  legacy  of  good  example  and  good  coun- 
sel to  his  successors.  G.  C. 


"BLESSED  be  God!"  exclaims  an  Arabian  historian:  "in  His 
hands  alone  is  the  destiny  of  princes.  He  overthrows  the 
mighty,  and  humbles  the  haughty  to  the  dust ;  and  he  raises 
up  the  persecuted  and  afflicted  from  the  very  depths  of  de- 
spair !" 

The  illustrious  house  of  Omeya  had  swayed  the  sceptre  at 
Damascus  for  nearly  a  century,  when  a  rebellion  broke  out, 


162  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

headed  by  Aboul  Abbas  Safah,  who  aspired  to  the  throne  of 
the  caliphs,  as  being  descended  from  Abbas,  the  uncle  of  the 
prophet.  The  rebellion  was  successful.  Marvau,  the  last  caliph 
of  the  house  of  Omeya,  was  defeated  and  slain.  A  general 
proscription  of  the  Ommiades  took  place.  Many  of  them  fell 
in  battle;  many  were  treacherously  slain,  in  places  where  they 
had  taken  refuge;  above  seventy  most  noble  and  distinguished 
were  murdered  at  a  banquet  to  which  they  had  been  invited, 
and  their  dead  bodies  covered  with  cloths,  and  made  to  serve 
as  tables  for  the  horrible  festivity.  Others  were  driven  forth, 
forlorn  and  desolate  wanderers  in  various  parts  of  the  earth, 
and  pursued  with  relentless  hatred ;  for  it  was  the  determina- 
tion of  the  usurper  that  not  one  of  the  persecuted  family  should 
escape.  Aboul  Abbas  took  possession  of  three  stately  palaces, 
and  delicious  gardens,  and  founded  the  powerful  dynasty  of  the 
Abbassides,  which,  for  several  centuries,  maintained  dominion 
in  the  east. 

"Blessed  be  God !"  again  exclaims  the  Arabian  historian;  "it 
was  written  in  His  eternal  decrees  that,  notwithstanding  the 
fury  of  the  Abbassides,  the  noble  stock  of  Omeya  should  not  be 
destroyed.  One  fruitful  branch  remained  to  flourish  with  glory 
and  greatness  in  another  land." 

When  the  sanguinary  proscription  of  the  Ommiades  took 
place,  two  young  princes  of  that  line,  brothers,  by  the  names 
of  Solyman  and  Abderahman,  were  spared  for  a  time.  Their 
personal  graces,  noble  demeanor,  and  winning  affability,  had 
made  them  many  friends,  while  their  extreme  youth  rendered 
them  objects  of  but  little  dread  to  the  usurper.  Their  safety, 
however,  was  but  transient.  In  a  little  while  the  suspicions  of 
Aboul  Abbas  were  aroused.  The  unfortunate  Solyman  fell  be- 
neath the  scimitar  of  the  executioner.  His  brother  Abderahman 
was  warned  of  his  danger  in  time.  Several  of  his  friends  has- 
tened to  him,  bringing  him  jewels,  a  disguise,  and  a  fleet  horse, 
"The  emissaries  of  the  caliph,"  said  they,  "are  in  search  of 
thee ;  thy  brother  lies  weltering  in  his  blood ;  fly  to  the  desert ! 
There  is  no  safety  for  thee  in  the  habitations  of  man !" 

Abderahman  took  the  jewels,  clad  himself  in  the  disguise, 
and  mounting  his  steed,  fled  for  his  lif e.  As  he  passed,  a  lonely 
fugitive,  by  the  palaces  of  his  ancestors,  in  which  his  family 
had  long  held  sway,  their  very  walls  seemed  disposed  to  betray 
him,  as  they  echoed  the  swift  clattering  of  his  steed. 

Abandoning  his  native  country,  Syria,  where  he  was  liable 
at  each  moment  to  be  recognized  and  taken,  he  took  refuge 


ABDERAHMAN.  163 

among  the  Bedouin  Arabs,  a  half -savage  race  of  shepherds.  His 
youth,  his  inborn  majesty  and  grace,  and  the  sweetness  and 
affability  that  shone  forth  in  his  azure  eyes,  won  the  hearts  of 
these  wandering  men.  He  was  but  twenty  years  of  age,  and 
had  been  reared  in  the  soft  luxury  of  a  palace ;  but  he  was  tall 
and  vigorous,  and  hi  a  little  while  hardened  himself  so  com- 
pletely to  the  rustic  life  of  the  fields  that  it  seemed  as  though 
he  had  passed  all  his  days  in  the  rude  simplicity  of  a  shepherd's 
cabin. 

His  enemies,  however,  were  upon  his  traces,  and  gave  him 
but  little  rest.  By  day  he  scoured  the  plain  with  the  Bedouins, 
hearing  in  every  blast  the  sound  of  pursuit,  and  fancying  in 
every  distant  cloud  of  dust  a  troop  of  the  caliph's  horsemen. 
His  night  was  passed  in  broken  sleep  and  frequent  watchings, 
and  at  the  earliest  dawn  he  was  the  first  to  put  the  bridle  to  his 
steed. 

Wearied  by  these  perpetual  alarms,  he  bade  farewell  to  his 
friendly  Bedouins,  and  leaving  Egypt  behind,  sought  a  safer 
refuge  in  Western  Africa,  The  province  of  Barea  was  at  that 
time  governed  by  Aben  Habib,  who  had  risen  to  rank  and  for- 
tune under  the  fostering  favor  of  the  Ommiades.  "Surely," 
thought  the  unhappy  prince,  "I  shall  receive  kindness  and 
protection  from  this  man ;  he  will  rejoice  to  show  his  gratitude 
for  the  benefits  showered  upon  him  by  my  kindred." 

Abderahman  was  young,  and  as  yet  knew  little  of  mankind. 
None  are  so  hostile  to  the  victim  of  power  as  those  whom  he 
has  befriended.  They  fear  being  suspected  of  gratitude  by  his 
persecutors,  and  involved  in  his  misfortunes. 

The  unfortunate  Abderahman  had  halted  for  a  few  days  to  re- 
pose himself  among  a  horde  of  Bedouins,  who  had  received  him 
with  their  characteristic  hospitality.  They  would  gather  round 
him  in  the  evenings,  to  listen  to  his  conversation,  regarding 
with  wonder  this  gently -spoken  stranger  from  the  more  refined 
country  of  Egypt.  The  old  men  marvelled  to  find  so  much 
knowledge  and  wisdom  in  such  early  youth,  and  the  young 
men,  won  by  his  frank  and  manly  carriage,  entreated  him  to 
remain  among  them. 

One  night,  when  all  were  buried  in  sleep,  they  were  roused 
by  the  tramp  of  horsemen.  The  Wali  Aben  Habib,  who,  like 
all  the  governors  of  distant  ports,  had  received  orders  from  the 
caliph  to  be  on  the  watch  for  the  fugitive  prince,  had  heard 
that  a  young  man,  answering  the  description,  had  entered  the 
province  alone,  from  the  frontiers  of  Egypt,  on  a  steed  worn 


164  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

down  by  travel.  He  had  immediately  sent  forth  horsemen  in 
his  pursuit,  with  orders  to  bring  him  to  him  dead  or  alive. 
The  emissaries  of  the  Wali  had  traced  him  to  his  resting-place, 
and  demanded  of  the  Arabs  whether  a  young  man,  a  stranger 
from  Syria,  did  not  sojourn  among  their  tribe.  The  Bedouina 
knew  by  the  description  that  the  stranger  must  be  their  guest, 
and  feared  some  evil  was  intended  him.  "Such  a  youth," 
said  they,  "  has  indeed  sojourned  among  us;  but  he  has  gone, 
with  some  of  our  young  men,  to  a  distant  valley,  to  hunt  the 
lion."  The  emissaries  inquired  the  way  to  the  place,  and 
hastened  on  to  surprise  their  expected  prey. 

The  Bedouins  repaired  to  Abderahman,  who  was  still  sleep- 
ing. "If  thou  hast  aught  to  fear  from  man  in  power,"  said 
they,  "arise  and  fly ;  for  the  horsemen  of  the  Wali  are  in  quest 
of  thee !  We  have  sent  them  off  for  a  tune  on  a  wrong  errand, 
but  they  will  soon  return." 

"Alas!  whither  shall  I  fly!"  cried  the  unhappy  prince;  "my 
enemies  hunt  me  like  the  ostrich  of  the  desert.  They  follow 
me  like  the  wind,  and  allow  me  neither  safety  nor  repose !" 

Six  of  the  bravest  youths  of  the  tribe  stepped  forward.  "  We 
have  steeds, "said  they, "that  can  outstrip  the  wind,  and  hands 
that  can  hurl  the  javelin.  We  will  accompany  thee  in  thy 
flight,  and  will  fight  by  thy  side  while  life  lasts,  and  we  have 
weapons  to  wield." 

Abderahman  embraced  them  with  tears  of  gratitude.  They 
mounted  their  steeds,  and  made  for  the  most  lonely  parts  of 
the  desert.  By  the  faint  light  of  the  stars,  they  passed  through 
dreary  wastes,  and  over  hills  of  sand.  The  lion  roared,  and 
the  hyena  howled  unheeded,  for  they  fled  from  man,  more 
cruel  and  relentless,  when  in  pursuit  of  blood,  than  the  savage 
beasts  of  the  desert. 

At  sunrise  they  paused  to  refresh  themselves  beside  a  scanty 
well,  surrounded  by  a  few  palm-trees.  One  of  the  young  Arabs 
climbed  a  tree,  and  looked  in  every  direction,  but  not  a  horse- 
man was  to  be  seen. 

"We  have  outstripped  pursuit,"  said  the  Bedouins;  "whither 
shall  we  conduct  thee?  Where  is  thy  home  and  the  land  of 
thy  people?" 

"  Home  have  I  none !"  replied  Abderahman,  mournfully,  "nor 
family,  nor  kindred!  My  native  land  is  to  me  a  land  of  de- 
Btruction,  and  my  people  seek  my  life !" 

The  hearts  of  the  youthful  Bedouins  were  touched  with  com- 
passion at  these  words,  and  they  marvelled  that  one  so  young 


ABDERAHMAN.  165 

and  gentle  should  have  suffered  such  great  sorrow  and  perse- 
cution. 

Abderahman  sat  by  the  well,  and  mused  for  a  time.  At 
length,  breaking  silence,  "  In  the  midst  of  Mauritania, "said  he, 
"dwells  the  tribe  of  Zeneta.  My  mother  was  of  that  tribe; 
and  perhaps  when  her  son  presents  himself,  a  persecuted  wan- 
derer, at  their  door,  they  will  not  turn  him  from  the  thresh- 
old." 

"The  Zenetes,"  replied  the  Bedouins,  "are  among  the 
bravest  and  most  hospitable  of  the  people  of  Africa.  Never 
did  the  unfortunate  seek  refuge  among  them  in  vain,  nor 
was  the  stranger  repulsed  from  their  door."  So  they  mount- 
ed their  steeds  with  renewed  spirits,  and  journeyed  with  all 
speed  to  Tahart,  the  capital  of  the  Zenetes. 

When  Abderahman  entered  the  place,  followed  by  his  six 
rustic  Arabs,  all  wayworn  and  travel-stained,  his  noble  and 
majestic  demeanor  shone  through  the  simple  garb  of  a  Bed- 
ouin. A  crowd  gathered  around  him,  as  he  alighted  from  his 
weary  steed.  Confiding  in  the  well-known  character  of  the 
tribe,  he  no  longer  attempted  concealment. 

"  You  behold  before  you,"  said  he,  "one  of  the  proscribed 
house  of  Omeya.  I  am  that  Abderahman  upon  whose  head  a 
price  has  been  set,  and  who  has  been  driven  from  land  to  land. 
I  come  to  you  as  my  kindred.  My  mother  was  of  your  tribe, 
and  she  told  me  with  her  dying  breath  that  in  all  time  of  need 
I  would  find  a  home  and  friends  among  the  Zenetes." 

The  words  of  Abderahman  went  straight  to  the  hearts  of  his 
hearers.  They  pitied  his  youth  and  his  great  misfortunes, 
while  they  were  charmed  by  his  frankness,  and  by  the  manly 
graces  of  his  person.  The  tribe  was  of  a  bold  and  generous 
spirit,  and  not  to  be  awed  by  the  frown  of  power.  "  Evil  be 
upon  us  and  upon  our  children,"  said  they,  "  if  we  deceive 
the  trust  thou  hast  placed  in  us !" 

Then  one  of  the  noblest  Xeques  took  Abderahman  to  his 
house,  and  treated  him  as  his  own  child;  and  the  principal 
people  of  the  tribe  strove  who  most  should  cherish  him,  and  do 
him  honor;  endeavoring  to  obliterate  by  their  kindness  the 
recollection  of  his  past  misfortunes. 

Abderahman  had  resided  some  tune  among  the  hospitable 
Zenetes,  when  one  day  two  strangers,  of  venerable  appearance, 
attended  by  a  small  retinue,  arrived  at  Tahart.  They  gave 
themselves  out  as  merchants,  and  from  the  simple  style  in 
which  they  travelled,  excited  no  attention.  In  a  little  while 


166  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

they  sought  out  Abderahman,  and,  taking  him  apart: 
"Hearken,"  said  they,  "Abderahman,  of  the  royal  line  of 
Omeya ;  we  are  ambassadors  sent  on  the  part  of  the  principal 
Moslems  of  Spain,  to  offer  thee,  not  merely  an  asylum,  for  that 
thou  hast  already  among  these  brave  Zenetes,  but  an  empire ! 
Spain  is  a  prey  to  distracting  factions,  and  can  no  longer  exist 
as  a  dependance  upon  a  throne  too  remote  to  watch  over  its 
welfare.  It  needs  to  be  independent  of  Asia  and  Africa,  and 
to  be  under  the  government  of  a  good  prince,  who  shall  reside 
within  it,  and  devote  himself  entirely  to  its  prosperity;  a 
prince  with  sufficient  title  to  silence  all  rival  claims,  and  bring 
the  warring  parties  into  unity  and  peace;  and  at  the  same 
time  with  sufficient  ability  and  virtue  to  insure  the  welfare  of 
his  dominions.  For  this  purpose  the  eyes  of  all  the  honorable 
leaders  in  Spain  have  been  turned  to  thee,  as  a  descendant  of 
the  royal  line  of  Omeya,  and  an  offset  from  the  same  stock  as 
our  holy  prophet.  They  have  heard  of  thy  virtues,  and  of  thy 
admirable  constancy  under  misfortunes;  and  invite  thee  to 
accept  the  sovereignty  of  one  of  the  noblest  countries  in  the 
world.  Thou  wilt  have  some  difficulties  to  encounter  from 
hostile  men;  but  thou  wilt  have  on  thy  side  the  bravest  cap, 
tains  that  have  signalized  themselves  in  the  conquest  of  the 
unbelievers." 

The  ambassadors  ceased,  and  Abderahman  remained  for  a 
time  lost  in  wonder  and  admiration.  "God  is  great!"  ex- 
claimed he,  at  length;  "  there  is  but  one  God,  who  is  God,  and 
Mahomet  is  his  prophet!  Illustrious  ambassadors,  you  have 
put  new  life  into  my  soul,  for  you  have  shown  me  something 
to  live  for.  In  the  few  years  that  I  have  lived,  troubles  and 
sorrows  have  been  heaped  upon  my  head,  and  I  have  become 
inured  to  hardships  and  alarms.  Since  it  is  the  wish  of  the 
valiant  Moslems  of  Spain,  I  am  willing  to  become  their  leader 
and  defender,  and  devote  myself  to  their  cause,  be  it  happy  or 
iisastrous." 

The  ambassadors  now  cautioned  him  to  be  silent  as  to  their 
errand,  and  to  depart  secretly  for  Spain.  "The  sea-board  of 
Africa,"  said  they,  "  swarms  with  your  enemies,  and  a  power- 
ful faction  in  Spain  would  intercept  you  on  landing,  did  they 
know  your  name  and  rank,  and  the  object  of  your  coming." 

But  Abderahman  replied:  "  I  have  been  cherished  in  adver- 
sity by  these  brave  Zenetes;  I  have  been  protected  and  hon- 
ored by  them,  when  a  price  was  set  upon  my  head,  and  to 
harbor  me  was  great  peril.  How  can  I  keep  my  good  fortune 


ABDERAHMAN.  167 

from  my  benefactors,  and  desert  their  hospitable  roofs  in 
silence?  He  is  unworthy  of  friendship,  who  withholds  confi- 
dence from  his  friend." 

Charmed  with  the  generosity  of  his  feelings,  the  ambassadors 
made  no  opposition  to  his  wishes.  The  Zenetes  proved  them- 
selves worthy  of  his  confidence.  They  hailed  with  joy  the 
great  change  in  his  fortunes.  The  warriors  and  the  young 
men  pressed  forward  to  follow,  and  aid  them  with  horse  and 
weapon;  "for  the  honor  of  a  noble  house  and  family,"  said 
they,  "can  be  maintained  only  by  lances  and  horsemen."  In 
a  few  days  he  set  forth,  with  the  ambassadors,  at  the  head  of 
nearly  a  thousand  horsemen,  skilled  in  war,  and  exercised  in 
the  desert,  and  a  large  body  of  infantry,  armed  with  lances. 
The  venerable  Xeque,  with  whom  he  had  resided,  blessed  him, 
and  shed  tears  over  him  at  parting,  as  though  he  had  been  his 
own  child ;  and  when  the  youth  passed  over  the  threshold,  the 
house  was  filled  with  lamentations. 

Abderahman  reached  Spain  in  safety,  and  landed  at  Almane- 
car,  with  his  little  band  of  warlike  Zenetes.  Spain  was  at  that 
time  in  a  state  of  great  confusion.  Upward  of  forty  years 
had  elapsed  since  the  conquest.  The  civil  wars  in  Syria  and 
Egypt  had  prevented  the  main  government  at  Damascus  from 
exercising  control  over  this  distant  and  recently  acquired  ter- 
ritory. Every  Moslem  commander  considered  the  town  or 
province  committed  to  his  charge,  an  absolute  property ;  and 
accordingly  exercised  the  most  arbitrary  extortions.  These 
excesses  at  length  became  insupportable,  and,  at  a  convocation 
of  many  of  the  principal  leaders,  it  was  determined,  as  a  means 
to  end  these  dissensions,  to  unite  all  the  Moslem  provinces  of 
Spain  under  one  Emir,  or  General  Governor.  Yusuf  el  Fehri, 
an  ancient  man,  of  honorable  lineage,  was  chosen  for  this 
station.  He  began  his  reign  with  policy,  and  endeavored  to 
conciliate  all  parties;  but  the  distribution  of  offices  soon 
created  powerful  enemies  among  the  disappointed  leaders.  A 
civil  war  was  the  consequence,  and  Spain  was  deluged  with 
blood.  The  troops  of  both  parties  burned  and  ravaged  and 
laid  everything  waste,  to  distress  their  antagonists;  the  vil- 
lages were  abandoned  by  their  inhabitants,  who  fled  to  the 
cities  for  refuge ;  and  flourishing  towns  disappeared  from  the 
face  of  the  earth,  or  remained  mere  heaps  of  rubbish  and 
ashes.  At  the  tune  of  the  landing  of  Abderahman  in  Spain,  the 
old  Emir  Yusuf  had  obtained  a  signal  victory.  He  had  cap- 
tured Saragossa,  in  which  was  Ameer  ben  Amru,  his  principal 


168  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

enemy,  together  with  his  son  and  secretary.  Loading  his  pri- 
soners with  chains,  and  putting  them  on  camels,  he  set  out  in 
triumph  for  Cordova,  considering  himself  secure  in  the  abso- 
lute domination  of  Spain. 

He  had  halted  one  day  in  a  valley  called  Wadarambla,  and 
was  reposing  with  his  family  in  his  pavilion,  while  his  people 
and  the  prisoners  made  a  repast  in  the  open  air.  In  the  midst 
of  his  repose,  his  confidential  adherent  and  general,  the  Wali 
Samael,  galloped  into  the  camp  covered  with  dust,  and  ex- 
hausted with  fatigue.  He  brought  tidings  of  the  arrival  of 
Abderahman,  and  that  the  whole  sea-board  was  flocking  to  his 
standard.  Messenger  after  messenger  came  hurrying  into  the 
camp,  confirming  the  fearful  tidiners,  and  adding  that  this 
descendant  of  the  Omeyas  had  secretly  been  invited  to  Spain 
by  Amru  and  his  followers.  Yusuf  waited  not  to  ascertain 
the  truth  of  this  accusation.  Giving  way  to  a  transport  of 
fury,  he  ordered  that  Amru,  his  son  and  secretary,  should 
be  cut  to  pieces.  His  commands  were  instantly  executed. 
"And  this  cruelty,"  says  the  Arabian  chronicler,  "lost  him 
the  favor  of  Allah;  for  from  that  time,  success  deserted  his 
standard." 

Abderahman  had  indeed  been  hailed  with  joy  on  his  landing 
in  Spain.  The  old  people  hoped  to  find  tranquillity  under  the 
sway  of  one  supreme  chieftain,  descended  from  their  ancient 
caliphs ;  the  young  men  were  rejoiced  to  have  a  youthful  war- 
rior to  lead  them  on  to  victories ;  and  the  populace,  charmed 
with  his  freshness  and  manly  beauty,  his  majestic  yet  gracious 
and  affable  demeanor,  shouted:  "Long  live  Abderahman  ben 
Moavia  Meramamolin  of  Spam !" 

In  a  few  days  the  youthful  sovereign  saw  himself  at  the 
head  of  more  than  twenty  thousand  men,  from  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Elvira,  Almeria,  Malaga,  Xeres,  and  Sidonia.  Fair 
Seville  threw  open  its  gates  at  his  approach,  and  celebrated  his 
arrival  with  public  rejoicings.  He  continued  his  march  into 
the  country,  vanquished  one  of  the  sons  of  Yusuf  before  the 
gates  of  Cordova,  and  obliged  him  to  take  refuge  within  its 
walls,  where  he  held  him  hi  close  siege.  Hearing,  however,  of 
the  approach  of  Yusuf,  the  father,  with  a  powerful  army,  he 
divided  his  forces,  and  leaving  ten  thousand  men  to  press  the 
siege,  he  hastened  with  the  other  ten  to  meet  the  coming  foe. 

Yusuf  had  indeed  mustered  a  formidable  force,  from  the 
east  and  south  of  Spain,  and  accompanied  by  his  veteran  gene- 
ral, Samael,  came  with  confident  boasting  to  drive  this  in- 


ABDERAHMAN.  169 

trader  from  the  land.  His  confidence  increased  on  beholding 
the  small  army  of  Abderahman.  Turning  to  Samael,  he  re- 
peated, with  a  scornful  sneer,  a  verse  from  an  Arabian  poetess, 
which  says : 

"How  hard  is  our  lot!  We  come,  a  thirsty  multitude,  and 
lo !  but  this  cup  of  water  to  share  among  us !" 

There  was  indeed  a  fearful  odds.  On  the  one  side  were  two 
veteran  generals,  grown  gray  in  victory,  with  a  mighty  host 
of  warriors,  seasoned  in  the  wars  of  Spain.  On  the  other  side 
was  a  mere  youth,  scarce  attained  to  manhood,  with  a  hasty 
levy  of  half-disciplined  troops;  but  the  youth  was  a  prince, 
flushed  with  hope,  and  aspiring  after  fame  and  empire;  and 
surrounded  by  a  devoted  band  of  warriors  from  Africa,  whose 
example  infused  desperate  zeal  into  the  little  army. 

The  encounter  took  place  at  daybreak.  The  impetuous  valor 
of  the  Zenetes  carried  everything  before  it.  The  cavalry  of 
Yusuf  was  broken,  and  driven  back  upon  the  infantry,  and 
before  noon  the  whole  host  was  put  to  headlong  flight.  Yusuf 
and  Samael  were  borne  along  in  the  torrent  of  the  fugitives, 
raging  and  storming,  and  making  ineffectual  efforts  to  rally 
them.  They  were  separated  widely  in  the  confusion  of  the 
flight,  one  taking  refuge  in  the  Algarves,  the  other  in  the 
kingdom  of  Murcia.  They  afterward  rallied,  reunited  their 
forces,  and  made  another  desperate  stand  near  Almunecar. 
The  battle  was  obstinate  and  bloody,  but  they  were  again 
defeated,  and  driven,  with  a  handful  of  followers,  to  take 
refuge  in  the  rugged  mountains  adjacent  to  Elvira. 

The  spirit  of  the  veteran  Samael  gave  way  before  these  fear- 
ful reverses.  "In  vain,  O  Yusuf!  "said  he,  "do  we  contend 
with  the  prosperous  star  of  this  youthful  conqueror:  the  will 
of  Allah  be  done !  Let  us  submit  to  our  fate,  and  sue  for  favor- 
able terms,  while  we  have  yet  the  means  of  capitulation." 

It  was  a  hard  trial  for  the  proud  spirit  of  Yusuf,  that  had 
once  aspired  to  uncontrolled  sway ;  but  he  was  compelled  to 
capitulate.  Abderahman  was  as  generous  as  brave.  He 
granted  the  two  gray -headed  generals  the  most  honorable  con- 
ditions, and  even  took  the  veteran  Samael  into  favor,  employ- 
ing him,  as  a  mark  of  confidence,  to  visit  the  eastern  provinces 
of  Spain,  and  restore  them  to  tranquillity.  Yusuf,  having  de- 
livered up  Elvira  and  Granada,  and  complied  with  other  arti- 
cles of  his  capitulation,  was  permitted  to  retire  to  Murcia,  and 
rejoin  his  son  Muhamad.  A  general  amnesty  to  all  chiefs  and 
soldiers  who  should  yield  up  their  strongholds,  and  lay  down 


170  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

their  arms,  completed  the  triumph  of  Abderahman,  and  brought 
all  hearts  into  obedience. 

Thus  terminated  this  severe  struggle  for  the  domination  ot 
Spain;  and  thus  the  illustrious  family  of  Omeya,  after  having 
been  cast  down  and  almost  exterminated  in  the  East,  took  new 
root,  and  sprang  forth  prosperously  in  the  West. 

Wherever  Abderahman  appeared,  he  was  received  with  rap 
turous  acclamations.  As  he  rode  through  the  cities,  the  popu- 
lace rent  the  air  with  shouts  of  joy ;  the  stately  palaces  were 
crowded  with  spectators,  eager  to  gain  a  sight  of  his  graceful 
form  and  beaming  countenance;  and  when  they  beheld  the 
mingled  majesty  and  benignity  of  their  new  monarch,  and  the 
sweetness  and  gentleness  of  his  whole  conduct,  they  extolled 
him  as  something  more  than  mortal;  as  a  beneficent  genius, 
sent  for  the  happiness  of  Spain. 

In  the  interval  of  peace  which  now  succeeded,  Abderahman 
occupied  himself  in  promoting  the  useful  and  elegant  arts,  and 
in  introducing  into  Spain  the  refinements  of  the  East.  Con- 
sidering the  building  and  ornamenting  of  cities  as  among  the 
noblest  employments  of  the  tranquil  hours  of  princes,  he  be- 
stowed great  pains  upon  beautifying  the  city  of  Cordova  and 
its  environs. ~  He  reconstructed  banks  and  dykes,  to  keep  the 
Guadalquiver  from  overflowing  its  borders,  and.  on  the  vast 
terraces  thus  formed,  he  planted  delightful  gardens.  In  the 
midst  of  these,  he  erected  a  lofty  tower,  commanding  a  view 
of  the  vast  and  fruitful  valley,  enlivened  by  the  windings  of  the 
river.  In  this  tower  he  would  pass  hours  of  meditation,  gaz- 
ing on  the  soft  and  varied  landscape,  and  innaling  the  bland 
and  balmy  airs  of  that  delightful  region.  At  such  times,  hia 
thoughts  would  recur  to  the  past,  and  the  misfortunes  of  his 
youth;  the  massacre  of  his  family  would  rise  to  view,  mingled 
with  tender  recollections  of  his  native  country,  from  which  he 
was  exiled.  In  these  melancholy  musings  he  would  sit  with 
Ms  eyes  fixed  upon  a  palm-tree  which  he  had  planted  in  the 
midst  of  his  garden.  It  is  said  to  have  been  the  first  ever 
planted  in  Spain,  and  to  have  been  the  parent-stock  of  all  the 
palm-trees  which  grace  the  southern  provinces  of  the  peninsula. 
The  heart  of  Abderahman  yearned  toward  this  tree;  it  was  the 
offspring  of  his  native  country,  and  like  him,  an  exile.  In  one 
of  his  moods  of  tenderness,  he  composed  verses  upon  it,  which 
have  since  become  famous  throughout  the  world.  The  follow- 
ing is  a  rude  but  literal  translation : 
"  Beauteous  Palm !  thou  also  wert  hither  brought  a  stranger? 


ABDERAHMAN.  171 

t>ut  thy  roots  have  found  a  kindly  soil,  thy  head  is  lifted  to 
the  skies,  and  the  sweet  airs  of  Algarve  fondle  and  kiss  thy 
Dranches. 

"  Thou  hast  known,  like  me,  the  storms  of  adverse  fortune. 
Bitter  tears  wouldst  thou  shed,  couldst  thou  feel  my  woes. 
Repeated  griefs  have  overwhelmed  me.  With  early  tears  I  be- 
dewed the  palms  on  the  banks  of  the  Euphrates;  but  neither 
tree  nor  river  heeded  my  sorrows,  when  driven  by  cruel  fate, 
and  the  ferocious  Aboul  Abbas,  from  the  scenes  of  my  child- 
hood and  the  sweet  objects  of  my  affection. 

"  To  thee  no  remembrance  remains  of  my  beloved  country; 
I,  unhappy !  can  never  recall  it  without  tears." 

The  generosity  of  Abderahman  to  his  vanquished  foes  was 
destined  to  be  abused.  The  veteran  Yusuf,  in  visiting  certain 
of  the  cities  which  he  had  surrendered,  found  himself  sur- 
rounded by  zealous  partisans,  ready  to  peril  Hf e  in  his  service. 
The  love  of  command  revived  in  nis  bosom,  and  he  repented 
the  facility  with  which  he  had  suffered  himself  to  be  persuaded 
to  submission.  Flushed  with  new  hopes  of  success,  he  caused 
arms  to  be  secretly  collected,  and  deposited  in  various  villages, 
most  zealous  in  their  professions  of  devotion,  and  raising  a  con- 
siderable body  of  troops,  seized  upon  the  castle  of  Almodovar. 
The  rash  rebellion  was  short-lived.  At  the  first  appearance  of 
an  army  sent  by  Abderahman,  and  commanded  by  Abdelme- 
lee,  governor  of  Seville,  the  villages  which  had  so  recently  pro- 
fessed loyalty  to  Yusuf,  hastened  to  declare  their  attachment 
to  the  monarch,  and  to  give  up  the  concealed  arms.  Almodo- 
var was  soon  retaken,  and  Yusuf,  driven  to  the  environs  of 
Lorea,  was  surrounded  by  the  cavalry  of  Abdelmelee.  The 
veteran  endeavored  to  cut  a  passage  through  the  enemy,  but 
after  fighting  with  desperate  fury,  and  with  a  force  of  arm  in- 
credible in  one  of  his  age,  he  fell  beneath  blows  from  weapons 
of  all  kinds,  so  that  after  the  battle  his  body  could  scarcely  be 
recognized,  so  numerous  were  the  wounds.  His  head  was  cut 
off  and  sent  to  Cordova,  where  it  was  placed  in  an  iron  cage, 
over  the  gate  of  the  city. 

The  old  lion  was  dead,  but  his  whelps  survived.  Yusuf  had 
left  three  sons,  who  inherited  his  warlike  spirit,  and  were  eager 
to  revenge  his  death.  Collecting  a  number  of  the  scattered 
adherents  of  their  house,  they  surprised  and  seized  upon  To- 
ledo, during  the  absence  of  Temam,  its  Wali  or  commander. 
In  this  old  warrior  city,  built  upon  a  rock,  and  almost  sur- 
rounded by  the  Tagus,  they  set  uj>  a  kind  of  robber  hold. 


172  THE  CRAYON  PAPEE8. 

scouring  the  surrounding  country,  levying  tribute,  seizing  upon 
horses,  and  compelling  the  peasantry  to  join  their  standard. 
Every  day  cavalcades  of  horses  and  mules,  laden  with  spoil, 
with  flocks  of  sheep  and  droves  of  cattle,  came  pouring  over 
the  bridges  on  either  side  of  the  city,  and  thronging  in  at  the 
gates,  the  plunder  of  the  surrounding  country.  Those  of  the 
inhabitants  who  were  still  loyal  to  Abderahman  dared  not  lift 
up  their  voices,  for  men  of  the  sword  bore  sway.  At  length 
one  day,  when  the  sons  of  Yusuf,  \vith  their  choicest  troops, 
were  out  on  a  maraud,  the  watchmen  on  the  towers  gave  the 
alarm.  A  troop  of  scattered  horsemen  were  spurring  wildly 
toward  the  gates.  The  banners  of  the  sons  of  Yusuf  were 
descried.  Two  of  them  spurred  into  the  city,  followed  by  a 
handful  of  warriors,  covered  with  confusion  and  dismay. 
They  had  been  encountered  and  defeated  by  the  Wali  Temam, 
and  one  of  the  brothers  had  been  slain. 

The  gates  were  secured  in  all  haste,  and  the  walls  were 
scarcely  manned,  when  Temam  appeared  before  them  with  his 
troops,  and  summoned  the  city  to  surrender.  A  great  internal 
commotion  ensued  between  the  loyalists  and  the  insurgents; 
the  latter,  however,  had  weapons  in  their  hands,  and  prevailed; 
and  for  several  days,  trusting  to  the  strength  of  their  rock- 
built  fortress,  they  set  the  Wali  at  defiance.  At  length  some 
of  the  loyal  inhabitants  of  Toledo,  who  knew  all  its  secret  and 
subterraneous  passages,  some  of  which,  if  chroniclers  may  be 
believed,  have  existed  since  the  days  of  Hercules,  if  not  of 
Tubal  Cain,  introduced  Temam  and  a  chosen  band  of  his  war- 
riors into  the  very  centre  of  the  city,  where  they  suddenly 
appeared  as  if  by  magic.  A  panic  seized  upon  the  insurgents. 
Some  sought  safety  in  submission,  some  in  concealment,  some 
in  flight.  Casim,  one  of  the  sons  of  Yusuf,  escaped  in  disguise ; 
the  youngest,  unarmed,  was  taken,  and  was  sent  captive  to 
the  king,  accompanied  by  the  head  of  his  brother,  who  had  been 
slain  in  battle. 

When  Abderahman  beheld  the  youth  laden  with  chains,  he 
remembered  his  own  sufferings  in  his  early  days,  and  had  com- 
passion on  him;  but,  to  prevent  him  from  doing  further  mis- 
chief, he  imprisoned  him  in  a  tower  of  the  wall  of  Cordova. 

In  the  meantime  Casim,  who  had  escaped,  managed  to  raise 
another  band  of  warriors.  Spain,  in  all  ages  a  guerilla  coun- 
try, prone  to  partisan  warfare  and  petty  maraud,  was  at  that 
time  infested  by  bands  of  licentious  troops,  who  had  sprung 
up  in  the  civil  contests  i  their  only  object  pillage,  their  only 


ABDERAHMAN.  173 

dependence  the  sword,  and  ready  to  flock  to  any  new  and 
desperate  standard,  that  promised  the  greatest  license.  With 
a  ruffian  force  thus  levied,  Casim  scoured  the  country,  took 
Sidonia  by  storm,  and  surprised  Seville  while  in  a  state  of 
unsuspecting  security. 

Abderahman  put  himself  at  the  head  of  his  faithful  Zenetee, 
and  took  the  field  in  person.  By  the  rapidity  of  his  move- 
ments, the  rebels  were  defeated,  Sidonia  and  Seville  speedily 
retaken,  and  Casim  was  made  prisoner.  The  generosity  of 
Abderahman  was  again  exhibited  toward  this  unfortunate  son 
of  Yusuf .  He  spared  his  life,  and  sent  him  to  be  confined  in  a 
tower  at  Toledo. 

The  veteran  Samael  had  taken  no  part  in  these  insurrections, 
but  had  attended  faithfully  to  the  affairs  intrusted  to  him  by 
Abderahman.  The  death  of  his  old  friend  and  colleague, 
Yusuf,  however,  and  the  subsequent  disasters  of  his  family, 
filled  him  with  despondency.  Fearing  the  inconstancy  of  for- 
tune, and  the  dangers  incident  to  public  employ,  he  entreated 
the  king  to  be  permitted  to  retire  to  his  house  in  Seguenza, 
and  indulge  a  privacy  and  repose  suited  to  his  advanced  age. 
His  prayer  was  granted.  The  veteran  laid  by  his  arms,  bat- 
tered in  a  thousand  conflicts ;  hung  his  sword  and  lance  against 
the  wall,  and,  surrounded  by  a  few  friends,  gave  himself  up 
apparently  to  the  sweets  of  quiet  and  unambitious  leisure. 

Who  can  count,  however,  upon  the  tranquil  content  of  a 
heart  nurtured  amid  the  storms  of  war  and  ambition !  Under 
the  ashes  of  this  outward  humility  were  glowing  the  coals  of 
faction.  In  his  seemingly  philosophical  retirement,  Samael  was 
concerting  with  his  friends  new  treason  against  Abderahman. 
His  plot  was  discovered ;  his  house  was  suddenly  surrounded 
by  troops ;  and  he  was  conveyed  to  a  tower  at  Toledo,  where, 
in  the  course  of  a  few  months,  he  died  in  captivity. 

The  magnanimity  of  Abderahman  was  again  put  to  the 
proof,  by  a  new  insurrection  at  Toledo.  Hixem  ben  Adra,  a 
relation  of  Yusuf,  seized  upon  the  Alcazar,  or  citadel,  slew 
several  of  the  royal  adherents  of  the  king,  liberated  Casim 
from  his  tower,  and,  summoning  all  the  banditti  of  the  coun- 
try, soon  mustered  a  force  of  ten  thousand  men.  Abderahman 
was  quickly  before  the  walls  of  Toledo,  with  the  troops  of 
Cordova  and  his  devoted  Zenetes.  The  rebels  were  brought  to 
terms,  and  surrendered  the  city  on  promise  of  general  pardon, 
which  was  extended  even  to  Hixem  and  Casim.  When  the 
chieftains  saw  Hixem  and  his  principal  confederates  in  the 


174  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

power  of  Abderahman,  they  advised  him  to  put  them  all  to 
death.  "A  promise  given  to  traitors  and  rebels,"  said  they, 
"is  not  binding,  when  it  is  to  the  interest  of  the  state  that  it 
should  be  broken." 

' '  No !"  replied  Abderahman,  c '  if  the  safety  of  my  thron«  were 
at  stake,  I  would  not  break  my  word."  So  saying,  he  con- 
firmed the  amnesty,  and  granted  Hixem  ben  Adra  a  worthless 
life,  to  be  employed  in  farther  treason. 

Scarcely  had  Abderahman  returned  from  this  expedition, 
when  a  powerful  army,  sent  by  the  caliph,  landed  from  Africa 
on  the  coast  of  the  Algarves.  The  commander,  Aly  ben 
Mogueth,  Emir  of  Cairvan,  elevated  a  rich  banner  which  he 
had  received  from  the  hands  of  the  caliph.  Wherever  he 
went,  he  ordered  the  caliph  of  the  East  to  be  proclaimed  by 
sound  of  trumpet,  denouncing  Abderahman  as  a  usurper,  the 
vagrant  member  of  a  family  proscribed  and  execrated  in  all 
the  mosques  of  the  East. 

One  of  the  first  to  join  his  standard  was  Hixem  ben  Adra,  so 
recently  pardoned  by  Abderahman.  He  seized  upon  the  cita- 
del of  Toledo,  and  repairing  to  the  camp  of  Aly,  offered  to 
deliver  the  city  into  his  hands. 

Abderahman,  as  bold  in  war  as  he  was  gentle  in  peace,  took 
the  field  with  his  wonted  promptness ;  overthrew  his  enemies, 
with  great  slaughter,  drove  some  to  the  sea-coast  to  regain 
their  ships,  and  others  to  the  mountains.  The  body  of  Aly  was 
found  on  the  field  of  battle.  Abderahman  caused  the  head  to 
be  struck  off,  and  conveyed  to  Cairvan,  where  it  was  affixed 
at  night  to  a  column  in  the  public  square,  with  this  inscription: 
"Thus  Abderahman,  the  descendant  of  the  Omeyas,  punishes 
the  rash  and  arrogant."  Hixem  ben  Adra  escaped  from  the 
field  of  battle,  and  excited  farther  troubles,  but  was  eventually 
captured  by  Abdelmelee,  who  ordered  his  head  to  be  struck 
off  on  the  spot,  lest  he  should  again  be  spared,  through  the 
wonted  clemency  of  Abderahman. 

Notwithstanding  these  signal  triumphs,  the  reign  of  Abder- 
ahman was  disturbed  by  farther  insurrections,  and  by  another 
descent  from  Africa,  but  he  was  victorious  over  them  all; 
striking  the  roots  of  his  power  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  land. 
Under  his  sway,  the  government  of  Spain  became  more  reg- 
ular and  consolidated,  and  acquired  an  independence  of  the 
empire  of  the  East.  The  caliph  continued  to  be  considered  as 
first  pontiff  and  chief  of  the  religion,  but  he  ceased  to  have  any 
temporal  power  over  Spain^ 


ABDERAHMAN.  175 

Having  again  an  interval  of  peace,  Abderahman  devoted 
himself  to  the  education  of  his  children.  Suleiman,  the  eldest, 
he  appointed  Wali,  or  governor,  of  Toledo;  Abdallah,  the 
second,  was  intrusted  with  the  command  of  Merida ;  but  the 
third  son,  Hixem,  was  the  delight  of  his  heart,  the  son  of 
Howara,  his  favorite  sultana,  whom  he  loved  throughout  lif e 
with  the  utmost  tenderness.  "With  this  youth,  who  was  full 
of  promise,  he  relaxed  from  the  fatigues  of  government ;  join- 
ing in  his  youthful  sports  amid  the  delightful  gardens  of  Cor- 
dova, and  teaching  him  the  gentle  art  of  falconry,  of  which 
the  king  was  so  fond  that  he  received  the  name  of  the  Falcon 
of  Coraixi. 

While  Abderahman  was  thus  indulging  in  the  gentle  pro- 
pensities of  his  nature,  mischief  was  secretly  at  work.  Muha- 
mad,  the  youngest  son  of  Yusuf ,  had  been  for  many  years  a 
prisoner  in  the  tower  of  Cordova.  Being  passive  and  resigned, 
his  keepers  relaxed  their  vigilance,  and  brought  him  forth 
from  his  dungeon.  He  went  groping  about,  however,  in 
broad  daylight,  as  if  still  in  the  darkness  of  his  tower.  His 
guards  watched  him  narrowly,  lest  this  should  be  a  deception, 
but  were  at  length  convinced  that  the  long  absence  of  light 
had  rendered  him  blind.  They  now  permitted  him  to  descend 
frequently  to  the  lower  chambers  of  the  tower,  and  to  sleep 
there  occasionally,  during  the  heats  of  summer.  They  even 
allowed  him  to  grope  his  way  to  the  cistern,  in  quest  of  water 
for  his  ablutions. 

A  year  passed  in  this  way  without  anything  to  excite  sus- 
picion. During  all  this  time,  however,  the  blindness  of  Muha- 
mad  was  entirely  a  deception ;  and  he  was  concerting  a  plan 
of  escape,  through  the  aid  of  some  friends  of  his  father,  who 
found  means  to  visit  him  occasionally.  One  sultry  evening 
in  midsummer,  the  guards  had  gone  to  bathe  in  the  Guadal- 
quiver,  leaving  Muhamad  alone,  in  the  lower  chambers  of  the 
tower.  No  sooner  were  they  out  of  sight  and  hearing,  than  he 
hastened  to  a  window  of  the  stair-case,  leading  down  to  the 
cistern,  lowered  himself  as  far  as  his  arms  would  reach,  and 
dropped  without  injury  to  the  ground.  Plunging  into  the 
Guadalquiver,  he  swam  across  to  a  thick  grove  on  the  opposite 
side,  where  his  friends  were  waiting  to  receive  him.  Here, 
mounting  a  horse  which  they  had  provided  for  an  event  of  the 
kind,  he  fled  across  the  country,  by  solitary  roads,  and  made 
good  his  escape  to  the  mountains  of  Jaen. 

The  guardians  of  the  tower  dreaded  for  some  time  to  make 


176  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

known  his  flight  to  Abderahman.  When  at  length  it  -was  told 
to  him,  he  exclaimed:  "All  is  the  work  of  eternal  wisdom;  it 
is  intended  to  teach  us  that  we  cannot  benefit  the  wicked  witlu 
out  injuring  the  good.  The  flight  of  that  blind  man  will  cause 
much  trouble  and  bloodshed." 

His  predictions  were  verified.  Muhamad  reared  the  stan- 
dard of  rebellion  on  the  mountains ;  the  seditious  and  discon- 
tented of  all  kinds  hastened  to  join  it,  together  with  soldiers 
of  fortune,  or  rather  wandering  banditti,  and  he  had  soon  six 
thousand  men,  well  armed,  hardy  in  habits,  and  desperate 
in  character.  His  brother  Casim  also  reappeared  about  the 
same  time  in  the  mountains  of  Eonda,  at  the  head  of  a  daring 
band  that  laid  all  the  neighboring  valleys  under  contribution. 

Abderahman  summoned  his  alcaydes  from  their  various  mili- 
tary posts,  to  assist  in  driving  the  rebels  from  their  mountain 
fastnesses  into  the  plains.  It  was  a  dangerous  and  protracted 
toil,  for  the  mountains  were  frightfully  wild  and  rugged.  He 
entered  them  with  a  powerful  host,  driving  the  rebels  from 
height  to  height  and  valley  to  valley,  and  harassing  them  by  a 
galling  fire  from  thousands  of  cross-bows.  At  length  a  deci- 
sive battle  took  place  near  the  river  Guadalemar.  The  rebels 
were  signally  defeated;  four  thousand  fell  in  action,  many 
were  drowned  in  the  river,  and  Muhamad,  with  a  few  horse- 
men, escaped  to  the  mountains  of  the  Algarves.  Here  he  was 
hunted  by  the  alcaydes  from  one  desolate  retreat  to  another; 
his  few  followers  grew  tired  of  sharing  the  disastrous  fortunes 
of  a  fated  man;  one  by  one  deserted  him,  and  he  himself  de- 
serted the  remainder,  fearing  they  might  give  him  up,  to  pur- 
chase their  own  pardon. 

Lonely  and  disguised,  he  plunged  into  the  depths  of  the 
forests,  or  lurked  in  dens  and  caverns,  like  a  famished  wolf, 
often  casting  back  his  thoughts  with  regret  to  the  time  of  his 
captivity  in  the  gloomy  tower  of  Cordova.  Hunger  at  length 
drove  him  to  Alarcon,  at  the  risk  of  being  discovered.  Famine 
and  misery,  however,  had  so  wasted  and  changed  him,  that  he 
was  not  recognized.  He  remained  nearly  a  year  in  Alarcon, 
unnoticed  and  unknown,  yet  constantly  tormenting  himself 
with  the  dread  of  discovery,  and  with  groundless  fears  of  the 
vengeance  of  Abderahman.  Death  at  length  put  an  end  to  his 
wretchedness. 

A  milder  fate  attended  his  brother  Casim.  Being  defeated 
in  the  mountains  of  Murcia,  he  was  conducted  in  chains  tc 
Cordova.  On  coming  into  the  presence  of  Abderahman,  his 


ABDERAHMAN.  177 

once  fierce  and  haughty  spirit,  broken  by  distress,  gave  -way ; 
he  threw  himself  on  the  earth,  kissed  the  dust  beneath  the  feet 
of  the  king,  and  implored  his  clemency.  The  benignant  heart 
of  Abderahman  was  filled  with  melancholy,  rather  than  exul- 
tation, at  beholding  this  wreck  of  the  once  haughty  family  of 
Yusuf  a  suppliant  at  his  feet,  and  suing  for  mere  existence. 
He  thought  upon  the  mutability  of  fortune,  and  felt  how  in- 
secure are  all  her  favors.  He  raised  the  unhappy  Casim  from 
the  earth,  ordered  his  irons  to  be  taken  off,  and,  not  content 
with  mere  forgiveness,  treated  him  with  honor,  and  gave  him 
possessions  in  Seville,  where  he  might  live  in  state  conform- 
able to  the  ancient  dignity  of  his  family.  Won  by  this  great 
and  persevering  magnanimity,  Casin?  ever  after  remained  one 
of  the  most  devoted  of  his  subjects. 

All  the  enemies  of  Abderahman  were  at  length  subdued ;  he 
reigned  undisputed  sovereign  of  the  Moslems  of  Spain ;  and  so 
benign  was  his  government,  that  every  one  blessed  the  revival 
of  the  illustrious  line  of  Omeya.  He  was  at  all  times  accessible 
to  the  humblest  of  his  subjects :  the  poor  man  ever  found  in 
him  a  friend,  and  the  oppressed  a  protector.  He  improved  the 
administration  of  justice ;  established  schools  for  public  instruc- 
tion ;  encouraged  poets  and  men  of  letters,  and  cultivated  the 
sciences.  He  built  mosques  in  every  city  that  he  visited ;  in- 
culcated religion  by  example  as  well  as  by  precept ;  and  cele- 
brated all  the  festivals  prescribed  by  the  Koran,  with  the 
utmost  magnificence. 

As  a  monument  of  gratitude  to  God  for  the  prosperity  with 
which  he  had  been  favored,  he  undertook  to  erect  a  mosque  in 
his  favorite  city  of  Cordova,  that  should  rival  in  splendor  the 
great  mosque  of  Damascus,  and  excel  the  one  recently  erected 
in  Bagdad  by  the  Abbassides,  the  supplanters  of  his  family. 

It  is  said  that  he  himself  furnished  the  plan  for  this  famous 
edifice,  and  even  worked  on  it,  with  his  own  hands,  one  hour 
in  each  day,  to  testify  his  zeal  and  humility  in  the  service  of 
God,  and  to  animate  his  workmen.  He  did  not  live  to  see  it 
completed,  but  it  was  finished  according  to  his  plans  by  his 
son  Hixem.  When  finished,  it  surpassed  the  most  splendid 
mosques  of  the  east.  It  was  six  hundred  feet  in  length,  and 
two  hundred  and  fifty  in  breadth.  Within  were  twenty-eight 
aisles,  crossed  by  nineteen,  supported  by  a  thousand  and  ninety- 
three  columns  of  marble.  There  were  nineteen  portals,  covered 
wito  plates  of  bronze  of  rare  workmanship.  The  principal 
portal  was  covered  with  plates  of  gold.  On  the  summit  of  the 


178  THE  CRAYOtf  PAPERS. 

grand  cupola  were  three  gilt  balls  surmounted  by  a  golden 
pomegranate.  At  night,  the  mosque  was  illuminated  with 
four  thousand  seven  hundred  lamps,  and  great  sums  were 
expended  in  amber  and  aloes,  which  were  burned  as  perfumes. 
The  mosque  remains  to  this  day,  shorn  of  its  ancient  splendor, 
yet  still  one  of  the  grandest  Moslem  monuments  in  Spain. 

Finding  himself  advancing  in  years,  Abderahman  assembled 
in  his  capital  of  Cordova  the  principal  governors  and  com- 
manders of  his  kingdom,  and  in  presence  of  them  all,  with 
great  solemnity,  nominated  his  son  Hixem  as  the  successor  to 
the  throne.  All  present  made  an  oath  of  fealty  to  Abderah- 
man during  his  life,  and  to  Hixem  after  his  death.  The  prince 
was  younger  than  his  brothers,  Soleiman  and  Abdallah;  but 
he  was  the  son  of  Howara,  the  tenderly  beloved  sultana  of 
Abderahman,  and  her  influence,  it  is  said,  gained  him  this 
preference. 

Within  a  few  months  afterward,  Abderahman  fell  grievously 
sick  at  Merida.  Finding  his  end  approaching,  he  summoned 
Hixem  to  his  bedside:  "  My  son,"  said  he,  "the  angel  of  death 
is  hovering  over  me ;  treasure  up,  therefore,  in  thy  heart  this 
dying  counsel,  which  I  give  through  the  great  love  I  bear  thee. 
Remember  that  all  empire  is  from  God,  who  gives  and  takes  it 
away,  according  to  his  pleasure.  Since  God,  through  his 
divine  goodness,  has  given  us  regal  power  and  authority,  let 
us  do  his  holy  will,  which  is  nothing  else  than  to  do  good  to  all 
men,  and  especially  to  those  committed  to  our  protection. 
Render  equal  justice,  my  son,  to  the  rich  and  the  poor,  and 
never  suffer  injustice  to  be  done  within  thy  dominion,  for  it  is 
the  road  to  perdition.  Be  merciful  and  benignant  to  those 
dependent  upon  thee.  Confide  the  government  of  thy  cities 
and  provinces  to  men  of  worth  and  experience ;  punish  without 
compassion  those  ministers  who  oppress  thy  people  with  exor- 
bitant exactions.  Pay  thy  troops  punctually;  teach  them  to 
feel  a  certainty  in  thy  promises ;  command  them  with  gentle- 
ness but  firmness,  and  make  them  in  truth  the  defenders  of 
the  state,  not  its  destroyers.  Cultivate  unceasingly  the  affec- 
tions of  thy  people,  for  in  their  good- will  consists  the  security 
of  the  state,  in  their  distrust  its  peril,  in  their  hatred  its  cer- 
tain ruin.  Protect  the  husbandmen  who  cultivate  the  earth, 
and  yield  us  necessary  sustenance;  never  permit  their  fields, 
and  groves,  and  gardens  to  be  disturbed.  In  a  word,  act  in 
such  wise  that  thy  people  may  bless  thee,  and  may  enjoy, 
under  the  shadow  of  thy  wing,  a  secure  and  tranquil  life,  in 


THE  WIDOWS  OtiDBAL  1//& 

this  consists  good  government;  if  thou  dost  practise  it,  thou 
wilt  be  happy  among  thy  people,  and  renowned  throughout 
the  world." 

Having  given  this  excellent  counsel,  the  good  king  Abderah- 
nian  blessed  his  son  Hixem,  and  shortly  after  died ;  being  but 
in  the  sixtieth  year  of  his  age.  He  was  interred  with  great 
pomp ;  but  the  highest  honors  that  distinguished  his  funeral 
were  the  tears  of  real  sorrow  shed  upon  his  grave.  He  left 
behind  Vn'm  a  name  for  valor,  justice,  and  magnanimity,  and 
forever  famous  as  being  the  founder  of  the  glorious  line  of  the 
Ommiades  in  Spain. 


THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL, 

OR  A  JUDICIAL  TRIAL  BY  COMBAT. 

THE  world  is  daily  growing  older  and  wiser.  Its  institutions 
vary  with  its  years,  and  mark  its  growing  wisdom ;  and  none 
more  so  than  its  modes  of  investigating  truth,  and  ascertaining 
guilt  or  innocence.  In  its  nonage,  when  man  was  yet  a  fallible 
being,  and  doubted  the  accuracy  of  his  own  intellect,  appeals 
were  made  to  heaven  in  dark  and  doubtful  cases  of  atrocious 
accusation. 

The  accused  was  required  to  plunge  his  hand  in  boiling  oil, 
or  to  walk  across  red-hot  ploughshares,  or  to  maintain  his 
innocence  in  armed  fight  and  listed  field,  in  person  or  by 
champion.  If  he  passed  these  ordeals  unscathed,  he  stood 
acquitted,  and  the  result  was  regarded  as  a  verdict  from  on 
high. 

It  is  somewhat  remarkable  that,  in  the  gallant  age  ot 
chivalry,  the  gentler  sex  should  have  been  most  frequently  the 
subjects  of  these  rude  trials  and  perilous  ordeals;  and  that, 
too,  when  assailed  in  their  most  delicate  and  vulnerable  part— 
their  honor. 

In  the  present  very  old  and  enlightened  age  of  the  world, 
when  the  human  intellect  is  perfectly  competent  to  the  man- 
agement of  its  own  concerns,  and  needs  no  special  interposition 
of  heaven  in  its  affairs,  the  trial  by  jury  has  superseded  these 
superhuman  ordeals ;  and  the  unanimity  of  twelve  discordant 
minds  is  necessary  to  constitute  a  verdict.  Such  a  unanimity 
would,  at  first  sight,  appear  also  to  require  a  miracle  from 
heaven;  but  it  is  produced  by  a  simple  device  of  human 


180  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

ingenuity.  The  twelve  jurors  are  locked  up  in  their  box,  there 
to  fast  until  abstinence  shall  have  so  clarified  their  intellects 
that  the  whole  jarring  panel  can  discern  the  truth,  and  concur 
in  a  unanimous  decision.  One  point  is  certain,  that  truth  is 
one,  and  is  immutable— until  the  jurors  all  agree,  they  cannot 
all  be  right. 

It  is  not  our  intention,  however,  to  discuss  this  great  judicial 
point,  or  to  question  the  avowed  superiority  of  the  mode  of 
investigating  truth  adopted  in  this  antiquated  and  very  saga- 
cious era.  It  is  our  object  merely  to  exhibit  to  the  curious 
reader  one  of  the  most  memorable  cases  of  judicial  combat  we 
find  in  the  annals  of  Spain.  It  occurred  at  the  bright  com- 
mencement of  the  reign,  and  in  the  youthful,  and,  as  yet, 
glorious  days,  of  Roderick  the  Goth;  who  subsequently  tar- 
nished his  fame  at  home  by  his  misdeeds,  and,  finally,  lost  his 
kingdom  and  his  life  on  the  banks  of  the  Guadalete,  in  that 
disastrous  battle  which  gave  up  Spain  a  conquest  to  the  Moors. 
The  following  is  the  story : 

There  was  once  upon  a  time  a  certain  duke  of  Lorraine,  who 
was  acknowledged  throughout  his  domains  to  be  one  of  the 
wisest  princes  that  ever  lived.  In  fact,  there  was  no  one 
measure  adopted  by  him  that  did  not  astonish  his  privy  coun- 
sellors and  gentlemen  in  attendance ;  and  he  said  such  witty 
things,  and  made  such  sensible  speeches,  that  the  jaws  of  his 
high  chamberlain  were  well-nigh  dislocated  from  laughing  with 
delight  at  one,  and  gaping  with  wonder  at  the  other. 

This  very  witty  and  exceedingly  wise  potentate  lived  for 
half  a  century  in  single-blessedness;  at  length  his  courtiers 
began  to  think  it  a  great  pity  so  wise  and  wealthy  a  prince 
should  not  have  a  child  after  his  own  likeness,  to  inherit  his 
talents  and  domains ;  so  they  urged  him  most  respectfully  to 
marry,  for  the  good  of  his  estate,  and  the  welfare  of  his  sub- 
jects. 

He  turned  their  advice  over  in  his  mind  some  four  or  five 
years,  and  then  sent  forth  emissaries  to  summon  to  his  court 
all  the  beautiful  maidens  in  the  land  who  were  ambitious  of 
sharing  a  ducal  crown.  The  court  was  soon  crowded  with 
beauties  of  all  styles  and  complexions,  from  among  whom  he 
chose  one  in  the  earliest  budding  of  her  charms,  and  acknow- 
ledged by  all  the  gentlemen  to  be  unparalleled  for  grace  and 
loveliness.  The  courtiers  extolled  the  duke  to  the  skies  for 
making  such  a  choice,  and  considered  it  another  proof  of  his 
great  wisdom.  ' '  The  duke, "  said  they,  ' '  is  waxing  a  little  too 


TEE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL.  181 

old,  the  damsel,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  little  too  young;  if  one 
is  lacking  in  years,  the  other  has  a  superabundance;  thus  a 
want  on  one  side  ig  balanced  by  the  excess  on  the  other,  and 
the  result  is  a  well-assorted  marriage." 

The  duke,  as  is  often  the  case  with  wise  men  who  marry 
rather  late,  and  take  damsels  rather  youthful  to  their  bosoms, 
became  dotingly  fond  of  his  wife,  and  very  properly  indulged 
her  in  all  things.  He  was,  consequently,  cried  up  by  his  sub- 
jects in  general,  and  by  the  ladies  in  particular,  as  a  pattern 
for  husbands ;  and,  in  the  end,  from  the  wonderful  docility 
with  which  he  submitted  to  be  reined  and  checked,  acquired 
the  amiable  and  enviable  appellation  of  Duke  Philibert  the 
wife-ridden. 

There  was  only  one  thing  that  disturbed  the  conjugal  felicity 
of  this  paragon  of  husbands — though  a  considerable  time 
elapsed  after  his  marriage,  there  was  still  no  prospect  of  an 
heir.  The  good  duke  left  no  means  untried  to  propitiate 
Heaven.  He  made  vows  and  pilgrimages,  he  fasted  and  he 
prayed,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  The  courtiers  were  all  aston- 
ished at  the  circumstance.  They  could  not  account  for  it. 
While  the  meanest  peasant  in  the  country  had  sturdy  brats  by 
dozens,  without  putting  up  a  prayer,  the  duke  wore  himself  to 
skin  and  bone  with  penances  and  fastings,  yet  seemed  farther 
off  from  his  object  than  ever. 

At  length,  the  worthy  prince  fell  dangerously  ill,  and  felt  his 
end  approaching.  He  looked  sorrowfully  and  dubiously  upon 
his  young  and  tender  spouse,  who  hung  over  him  with  tears 
and  sobbings.  "Alas!"  said  he,  "tears  are  soon  dried  from 
youthful  eyes,  and  sorrow  lies  lightly  on  a  youthful  heart.  In 
a  little  while  thou  wilt  forget  in  the  arms  of  another  husband 
him  who  has  loved  thee  so  tenderly." 

"Never!  never!"  cried  the  duchess.  " Never  will  I  cleave 
to  another !  Alas,  that  my  lord  should  think  me  capable  of 
euch  inconstancy !" 

The  worthy  and  wife-ridden  duke  was  soothed  by  her  assur- 
ances ;  for  he  could  not  brook  the  thought  of  giving  her  up 
even  after  he  should  be  dead.  Still  he  wished  to  have  some 
pledge  of  her  enduring  constancy : 

"Far  be  it  from  me,  my  dearest  wife,"  said  he,  "to  control 
thee  through  a  long  life.  A  year  and  a  day  of  strict  fidelity 
will  appease  my  troubled  spirit.  Promise  to  remain  faithful  to 
my  memory  for  a  year  and  a  day,  and  I  will  die  in  peace." 

The  duchess  made  a  solemn  vow  to  that  effect,  but  the  uxori- 


182  TEE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

ous  feelings  of  the  duke  were  not  yet  satisfied.  ' '  Safe  bind,  safe 
find,"  thought  he;  so  he  made  a  will,  bequeathing  to  her  all  his 
domains,  on  condition  of  her  remaining  true  to  him  for  a  year 
and  a  day  after  his  decease;  but,  should  it  appear  that,  within 
that  time,  she  had  in  anywise  lapsed  from  her  fidelity,  the  in- 
heritance should  go  to  his  nephew,  the  lord  of  a  neighboring 
territory. 

Having  made  his  will,  the  good  duke  died  and  was  buried. 
Scarcely  was  he  in  his  tomb,  when  his  nephew  came  to  take 
possession,  thinking,  as  his  uncle  had  died  without  issue,  the 
domains  would  be  devised  to  Mm  of  course.  He  was  in  a  furi- 
ous passion,  when  the  will  was  produced,  and  the  young  widow 
declared  inheritor  of  the  dukedom.  As  he  was  a  violent,  high- 
handed man,  and  one  of  the  sturdiest  knights  in  the  land,  fears 
were  entertained  that  he  might  attempt  to  seize  on  the  terri- 
tories by  force.  He  had,  however,  two  bachelor  uncles  for 
bosom  counsellors,  swaggering,  rakehelly  old  cavaliers,  who, 
having  led  loose  and  riotous  lives,  prided  themselves  upon 
knowing  the  world,  and  being  deeply  experienced  in  human 
nature.  "Prithee,  man,  be  of  good  cheer,"  said  they,  "the 
duchess  is  a  young  and  buxom  widow.  She  has  just  buried 
our  brother,  who,  God  rest  his  soul !  was  somewhat  too  much 
given  to  praying  and  fasting,  and  kept  his  pretty  wife  always 
tied  to  his  girdle.  She  is  now  like  a  bird  from  a  cage.  Think 
you  she  will  keep  her  vow?  Pooh,  pooh— impossible  1  Take 
our  words  for  it— we  know  mankind,  and,  above  all,  woman- 
kind. She  cannot  hold  out  for  such  a  length  of  time ;  it  is  not 
in  womanhood— it  is  not  in  widowhood— we  know  it,  and  that's 
enough.  Keep  a  sharp  look-out  upon  the  widow,  therefore, 
and  within  the  twelvemonth  you  will  catch  her  tripping—  and 
then  the  dukedom  is  your  own." 

The  nephew  was  pleased  with  this  counsel,  and  immediately 
placed  spies  round  the  duchess,  and  bribed  several  of  her  ser- 
vants to  keep  watch  upon  her,  so  that  she  could  not  take  a 
single  step,  even  from  one  apartment  of  her  palace  to  another, 
without  being  observed.  Never  was  young  and  beautiful 
widow  exposed  to  so  terrible  an  ordeal. 

The  duchess  was  aware  of  the  watch  thus  kept  upon  her. 
Though  confident  of  her  own  rectitude,  she  knew  that  it  is  not 
enough  for  a  woman  to  be  virtuous— she  must  be  above  the 
reach  of  slander.  For  the  whole  term  of  her  probation,  there- 
fore, she  proclaimed  a  strict  non-intercourse  with  the  other 
sex  She  had  females  for  cabinet  ministers  and  chamberlain& 


TEE   WIDOWS  ORDEAL.  183 

through  whom  she  transacted  all  her  public  and  private  con- 
cerns ;  and  it  is  said  that  never  were  the  affairs  of  the  duke- 
dom so  adroitly  administered. 

All  males  were  rigorously  excluded  from  the  palace;  she 
never  went  out  of  its  precincts,  and  whenever  she  moved  ahout 
its  courts  and  gardens,  she  surrounded  herself  with  a  body- 
guard of  young  maids  of  honor,  commanded  by  dames  re- 
nowned for  discretion.  She  slept  in  a  bed  without  curtains, 
placed  in  the  centre  of  a  room  illuminated  by  innumerable  wax 
tapers.  Four  ancient  spinsters,  virtuous  as  Virginia,  perfect 
dragons  of  watchfulness,  who  only  slept  during  the  daytime, 
kept  vigils  throughout  the  night,  seated  in  the  four  corners  of 
the  room  on  stools  without  backs  or  arms,  and  with  seats  cut 
in  checkers  of  the  hardest  wood,  to  keep  them  from  dozing. 

Thus  wisely  and  warily  did  the  young  duchess  conduct  her- 
self for  twelve  long  months,  and  slander  almost  bit  her  tongue 
off  in  despair,  at  finding  no  room  even  for  a  surmise.  Never 
was  ordeal  more  burden  some,  or  more  enduringly  sustained. 

The  year  passed  away.  The  last,  odd  day  arrived,  and  a  long, 
long  day  it  was.  It  was  the  twenty-first  of  June,  the  longest 
day  in  the  year.  It  seemed  as  if  it  would  never  come  to  an 
end.  A  thousand  times  did  the  duchess  and  her  ladies  watch 
the  sun  from  the  windows  of  the  palace,  as  he  slowly  climbed 
the  vault  of  heaven,  and  seemed  still  more  slowly  to  roll  down. 
They  could  not  help  expressing  their  wonder,  now  and  then,  why 
the  duke  should  have  tagged  this  supernumerary  day  to  the 
end  of  the  year,  as  if  tnree  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  were 
not  sufficient  to  try  and  task  the  fidelity  of  any  woman.  It  is 
the  last  grain  that  turns  the  scale — the  last  drop  that  overflows 
the  goblet — and  the  last  moment  of  delay  that  exhausts  the 
patience.  By  the  time  the  sun  sank  below  the  horizon,  the 
duchess  was  in  a  fidget  that  passed  all  bounds,  and,  though 
several  hours  were  yet  to  pass  before  the  day  regularly  expired, 
she  could  not  have  remained  those  hours  in  durance  to  gain  ? 
royal  crown,  much  less  a  ducal  coronet.  So  she  gave  orders, 
and  her  palfrey,  magnificently  caparisoned,  was  brought  into 
the  court-yard  of  the  castle,  with  palfreys  for  all  her  ladies  in 
attendance.  In  this  way  she  sallied  forth,  just  as  the  sun  had 
gone  down.  It  was  a  mission  of  piety — a  pilgrim  cavalcade  to 
a  convent  at  the  foot  of  a  neighboring  mountain — to  return 
thanks  to  the  blessed  Virgin,  for  having  sustained  her  through 
this  fearful  ordeal. 

The  orisons  performed,  the  duchess  and  her  ladies  returned. 


184  TEE  CRAVON  PAPERS. 

ambling  gently  along  the  border  of  a  forest.  It  was  about  that 
mellow  hour  of  twilight  when  night  and  day  are  mingled,  and 
all  objects  are  indistinct.  Suddenly,  some  monstrous  animal 
sprang  from  out  a  thicket,  with  fearful  bowlings.  The  female 
body-guard  was  thrown  into  confusion,  and  fled  different  ways. 
It  was  some  time  before  they  recovered  from  their  panic,  and 
gathered  once  more  together;  but  the  duchess  was  not  to  be 
found.  The  greatest  anxiety  was  felt  for  her  safety.  The 
hazy  mist  of  twilight  had  prevented  their  distinguishing  per- 
fectly the  animal  which  had  affrighted  them.  Some  thought 
it  a  wolf,  others  a  bear,  others  a  wild  man  of  the  woods.  For 
upwards  of  an  nour  did  they  beleaguer  the  forest,  without 
daring  to  venture  in,  and  were  on  the  point  of  giving  up  the 
duchess  as  torn  to  pieces  and  devoured,  when,  to  their  great  joy, 
they  beheld  her  advancing  in  the  gloom,  supported  by  a  stately 
cavalier. 

He  was  a  stranger  knight,  whom  nobody  knew.  It  was 
impossible  to  distinguish  his  countenance  in  the  dark ;  but  all 
the  ladies  agreed  that  he  was  of  noble  presence  and  captivating 
address.  He  had  rescued  the  duchess  from  the  very  fangs  of 
the  monster,  which,  he  assured  the  ladies,  was  neither  a  wolf, 
nor  a  bear,  nor  yet  a  wild  man  of  the  woods,  but  a  veritable 
fiery  dragon,  a  species  of  monster  peculiarly  hostile  to  beautiful 
females  in  the  days  of  chivalry,  and  which  all  the  efforts  of 
knight-errantry  had  not  been  able  to  extirpate. 

The  ladies  crossed  themselves  when  they  heard  of  the  danger 
from  which  they  had  escaped,  and  could  not  enough  admire 
the  gallantry  of  the  cavalier.  The  duchess  would  fain  have 
prevailed  on  her  deliverer  to  accompany  her  to  her  court ;  but 
he  had  no  time  to  spare,  being  a  knight-errant,  who  had  many 
adventures  on  nand,  and  many  distressed  damsels  and  afflicted 
widows  to  rescue  and  relieve  in  various  parts  of  the  country. 
Taking  a  respectful  leave,  therefore,  he  pursued  his  wayfaring, 
and  the  duchess  and  her  train  returned  to  the  palace.  Through- 
out the  whole  way,  the  ladies  were  unwearied  in  chanting 
praises  of  the  stranger  knight,  nay,  many  of  them  would 
ingly  have  incurred  the  danger  of  the  dragon  to  have  enjoyed 
the  happy  deliverance  of  the  duchess.  As  to  the  latter,  she 
rode  pensively  along,  but  said  nothing. 

No  sooner  was  the  adventure  of  the  wood  made  public,  than 
a  whirlwind  was  raised  about  the  ears  of  the  beautiful  duchesp. 
The  blustering  nephew  of  the  deceased  duke  went  about,  armed 
to  the  teeth,  with  a  swaggering  uncle  at  each  shoulder,  ready 


THE  WIDOW'S  OEDEAL.  185 

to  back  him,  and  swore  the  duchess  had  forfeited  her  domain. 
It  was  in  vain  that  she  called  all  the  saints,  and  angels,  and  her 
ladies  in  attendance  into  the  bargain,  to  witness  that  she  had 
passed  a  year  and  a  day  of  immaculate  fidelity.  One  fatal 
hour  remained  to  be  accounted  for ;  and  into  the  space  of  one 
little  hour  sins  enough  may  be  conjured  up  by  evil  tongues,  to 
blast  the  fame  of  a  whole  life  of  virtue. 

The  two  graceless  uncles,  who  had  seen  the  world,  were  ever 
ready  to  bolster  the  matter  through,  and  as  they  were  brawny, 
broad-shouldered  warriors,  and  veterans  in  brawl  as  well  as 
debauch,  they  had  great  sway  with  the  multitude.  If  any  one 
pretended  to  assert  the  innocence  of  the  duchess,  they  inter- 
rupted him  with  a  loud  ha!  ha!  of  derision.  "  A  pretty  story, 
truly,"  would  they  cry,  "about  a  wolf  and  a  dragon,  and  a 
young  widow  rescued  in  the  dark  by  a  sturdy  varlet  who  dares 
not  show  his  face  in  the  daylight.  You  may  tell  that  to  those 
who  do  not  know  human  nature,  for  our  parts  we  know  the 
sex,  and  that's  enough." 

If,  however,  the  other  repeated  his  assertion,  they  would 
suddenly  knit  their  brows,  swell,  look  big,  and  put  their  hands 
upon  their  swords.  As  few  people  like  to  fight  in  a  cause  that 
does  not  touch  their  own  interests,  the  nephew  and  the  uncles 
were  suffered  to  have  their  way,  and  swagger  uncontradicted. 

The  matter  was  at  length  referred  to  a  tribunal,  composed  of 
all  the  dignitaries  of  the  dukedom,  and  many  and  repeated 
consultations  were  held.  The  character  of  the  duchess  through- 
out the  year  was  as  bright  and  spotless  as  the  moon  in  a  cloud- 
less night;  one  fatal  hour  of  darkness  alone  intervened  to 
eclipse  its  brightness.  Finding  human  sagacity  incapable  of 
dispelling  the  mystery,  it  was  determined  to  leave  the  question 
to  heaven ;  or  in  other  words,  to  decide  it  by  the  ordeal  of  the 
sword— a  sage  tribunal  in  the  age  of  chivalry.  The  nephew 
and  two  bully  uncles  were  to  maintain  their  accusation  in 
listed  combat,  and  six  months  were  allowed  to  the  duchess  to 
provide  herself  with  three  champions,  to  meet  them  in  the 
field.  Should  she  fail  in  this,  or  should  her  champions  be 
vanquished,  her  honor  would  be  considered  as  attainted,  her 
fidelity  as  forfeit,  and  her  dukedom  would  go  to  the  nephew, 
as  a  matter  of  right. 

With  this  determination  the  duchess  was  fain  to  comply. 
Proclamations  were  accordingly  made,  and  heralds  sent  to 
various  parts ;  but  day  after  day,  week  after  week,  and  month 
after  month,  elapsed,  without  any  champion  appearing  to  assert 


186  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

her  loyalty  throughout  that  darksome  hour.  The  fair  widow 
was  reduced  to  despair,  when  tidings  reached  her  of  grand 
tournaments  to  be  held  at  Toledo,  in  celebration  of  the  nup- 
tials of  Don  Eoderick,  the  last  of  the  Gothic  kings,  with  the 
Morisco  princess  Exilona.  As  a  last  resort,  the  duchess  re- 
paired to  the  Spanish  court,  to  implore  the  gallantry  of  its 
assembled  chivalry. 

The  ancient  city  of  Toledo  was  a  scene  of  gorgeous  revelry 
on  the  event  of  the  royal  nuptials.  The  youthful  king,  brave, 
ardent,  and  magnificent,  and  his  lovely  bride,  beaming  with 
all  the  radiant  beauty  of  the  East,  were  hailed  with  shouts  and 
acclamations  whenever  they  appeared. 

Their  nobles  vied  with  each  other  in  the  luxury  of  their 
attire,  their  prancing  steeds,  and  splendid  retinues;  and  the 
haughty  dames  of  the  court  appeared  in  a  blaze  of  jewels. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  pageantry,  the  beautiful,  but  afflicted 
Duchess  of  Lorraine  made  her  approach  to  the  throne.  She 
was  dressed  in  black,  and  closely  veiled ;  four  duennas  of  the 
most  staid  and  severe  aspect,  and  six  beautiful  demoiselles, 
formed  her  female  attendants.  She  was  guarded  by  several 
very  ancient,  withered,  and  grayheaded  cavaliers;  and  her 
train  was  borne  by  one  of  the  most  deformed  and  diminutive 
dwarfs  in  existence. 

Advancing  to  the  foot  of  the  throne,  she  knelt  down,  and, 
throwing  up  her  veil,  revealed  a  countenance  so  beautiful  that 
half  the  courtiers  present  were  ready  to  renounce  wives  and 
mistresses,  and  devote  themselves  to  her  service;  but  when 
she  made  known  that  she  came  in  quest  of  champions  to 
defend  her  fame,  every  cavalier  pressed  forward  to  offer  his 
arm  and  sword,  without  inquiring  into  the  merits  of  the  case ; 
for  it  seemed  clear  that  so  beauteous  a  lady  could  have  done 
nothing  but  what  was  right ;  and  that,  at  any  rate,  she  ought 
to  be  championed  in  following  the  bent  of  her  humors,  whether 
right  or  wrong. 

Encouraged  by  such  gallant  zeal,  the  duchess  suffered  her- 
self to  be  raised  from  the  ground,  and  related  the  whole  story 
of  her  distress.  When  she  concluded,  the  king  remained  for 
some  time  silent,  charmed  by  the  music  of  her  voice.  At 
length:  "As  I  hope  for  salvation,  most  beautiful  duchess," 
said  he,  "were  I  not  a  sovereign  king,  and  bound  in  duty  to 
my  kingdom,  I  myself  would  put  lance  in  rest  to  vindicate 
your  cause ;  as  it  is,  I  here  give  full  permission  to  my  knights, 
and  promise  lists  and  a  fair  field,  and  that  the  contest  shall 


TEE  WIDOWS  OHDEAL.  187 

take  place  before  the  walls  of  Toledo,  in  presence  of  my 
assembled  court." 

As  soon  as  the  pleasure  of  the  king  was  known,  there  was  a 
strife  among  the  cavaliers  present,  for  the  honor  of  the  contest. 
It  was  decided  by  lot,  and  the  successful  candidates  were 
objects  of  great  envy,  for  every  one  was  ambitious  of  finding 
favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  beautiful  widow. 

Missives  were  sent,  summoning  the  nephew  and  his  two 
uncles  to  Toledo,  to  maintain  their  accusation,  and  a  day  was 
appointed  for  the  combat.  When  the  day  arrived,  all  Toledo 
was  in  commotion  at  an  early  hour.  The  lists  had  been  pre- 
pared in  the  usual  place,  just  without  the  walls,  at  the  foot  of 
the  rugged  rocks  on  which  the  city  is  built,  and  on  that  beauti- 
ful meadow  along  the  Tagus,  known  by  the  name  of  the  king's 
garden.  The  populace  had  already  assembled,  each  one  eager 
to  secure  a  favorable  place;  the  balconies  were  filled  with  the 
ladies  of  the  court,  clad  in  their  richest  attire,  and  bands  of 
youthful  knights,  splendidly  armed  and  decorated  with  their 
ladies'  devices,  were  managing  their  superbly  caparisoned 
steeds  about  the  field.  The  king  at  length  came  forth  in  state, 
accompanied  by  the  queen  Exilona.  They  took  their  seats  in 
a  raised  balcony,  under  a  canopy  of  rich  damask;  and,  at 
sight  of  them,  the  people  rent  the  air  with  acclamations. 

The  nephew  and  his  uncles  now  rode  into  the  field,  armed 
cap-ci-pie,  and  followed  by  a  train  of  cavaliers  of  their  own 
roystering  cast,  great  swearers  and  carousers,  arrant  swash- 
bucklers, with  clanking  armor  and  jingling  spurs.  When  the 
people  of  Toledo  beheld  the  vaunting  and  discourteous  appear- 
ance of  these  knights,  they  were  more  anxious  than  ever  for 
the  success  of  the  gentle  duchess;  but,  at  the  same  time,  the 
sturdy  and  stalwart  frames  of  these  warriors,  showed  that 
whoever  won  the  victory  from  them,  must  do  it  at  the  cost  of 
many  a  bitter  blow. 

As  the  nephew  and  his  riotous  crew  rode  in  at  one  side  of  the 
field,  the  fair  widow  appeared  at  the  other,  with  her  suite  of 
grave  grayheaded  courtiers,  her  ancient  duennas  and  dainty 
demoiselles,  and  the  little  dwarf  toning  along  under  the  weight 
of  her  train.  Every  one  made  way  for  her  as  she  passed,  and 
blessed  her  beautiful  face,  and  prayed  for  success  to  her  cause. 
She  took  her  seat  in  a  lower  balcony,  not  far  from  the  sover- 
eign ;  and  her  pale  face,  set  off  by  her  mourning  weeds,  was  as 
the  moon  shining  forth  from  among  the  clouds  of  night. 

The  trumpets  sounded  for  the  combat.    The  warriors  were 


188  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

just  entering  the  lists,  when  a  stranger  knight,  armed  in  pano- 
ply, and  followed  by  two  pages  and  an  esquire,  came  galloping 
into  the  field,  and,  riding  up  to  the  royal  balcony,  claimed  the 
combat  as  a  matter  of  right. 

"In  me,"  cried  he,  "behold  the  cavalier  who  had  the  happi- 
ness to  rescue  the  beautiful  duchess  from  the  peril  of  the  forest, 
and  the  misfortune  to  bring  on  her  this  grievous  calumny.  It 
was  but  recently,  in  the  course  of  my  errantry,  that  tidings  of 
her  wrongs  have  reached  my  ears,  and  I  have  urged  hither  at 
all  speed,  to  stand  forth  in  her  vindication." 

No  sooner  did  the  duchess  hear  the  accents  of  the  knight 
than  she  recognized  his  voice,  and  joined  her  prayers  with  his 
that  he  might  enter  the  lists.  The  difficulty  was,  to  determine 
which  of  the  three  champions  already  appointed  should  yield 
his  place,  each  insisting  on  the  honor  of  the  combat.  The 
stranger  knight  would  have  settled  the  point,  by  taking  the 
whole  contest  upon  himself;  but  this  the  other  knights  would 
not  permit.  It  was  at  length  determined,  as  before,  by  lot,  and 
the  cavalier  who  lost  the  chance  retired  murmuring  and  dis- 
consolate. 

The  trumpets  again  sounded — the  lists  were  opened.  The 
arrogant  nephew  and  his  two  drawcansir  uncles  appeared  so 
sompletely  cased  in  steel,  that  they  and  their  steeds  were  like 
moving  masses  of  iron.  When  they  understood  the  stranger 
knight  to  be  the  same  that  had  rescued  the  duchess  from  her 
peril,  they  greeted  him  with  the  most  boisterous  derision : 

"O  ho!  sir  Knight  of  the  Dragon,"  said  they,  "you  who  pre- 
tend to  champion  fair  widows  in  the  dark,  come  on,  and  vindi- 
cate your  deeds  of  darkness  hi  the  open  day." 

The  only  reply  of  the  cavalier  was  to  put  lance  in  rest,  and 
brace  himself  for  the  encounter.  Needless  is  it  to  relate  the 
particulars  of  a  battle,  which  was  like  so  many  hundred  com- 
bats that  have  been  said  and  sung  in  prose  and  verse.  Who  is 
there  but  must  have  foreseen  the  event  of  a  contest,  where 
Heaven  had  to  decide  on  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  immaculate  of  widows? 

The  sagacious  reader,  deeply  read  in  this  kind  of  judicial 
combats,  can  imagine  the  encounter  of  the  graceless  nephew 
and  the  stranger  knight.  He  sees  their  concussion,  man  to 
man,  and  horse  to  horse,  in  mid  career,  and  sir  Graceless 
hurled  to  the  ground,  and  slain.  He  will  not  wonder  that  the 
assailants  of  the  brawny  uncles  were  less  successful  in  their 
rude  encounter;  but  he  will  picture  to  himself  the  stout 


TEE  CREOLE   VILLAGE.  18& 

stranger  spurring  to  their  rescue,  in  the  very  critical  moment; 
he  will  see  him  transfixing  one  with  his  lance,  and  cleaving 
the  other  to  the  chine  with  a  back  stroke  of  his  sword,  thus 
leaving  the  trio  of  accusers  dead  upon  the  field,  and  establish- 
ing the  immaculate  fidelity  of  the  duchess,  and  her  title  to 
the  dukedom,  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt. 

The  air  rang  with  acclamations;  nothing  was  heard  but 
praises  of  the  beauty  and  virtue  of  the  duchess,  and  of  the 
prowess  of  the  stranger  knight;  but  the  public  joy  was  still 
more  increased  when  the  champion  raised  his  visor,  and  re- 
vealed the  countenance  of  one  of  the  bravest  cavaliers  of  Spain, 
renowned  for  his  gallantry  in  the  service  of  the  sex,  and  who 
had  been  round  the  world  in  quest  of  similar  adventures. 

That  worthy  knight,  however,  was  severely  wounded,  and 
remained  for  a  long  time  ill  of  his  wounds.  The  lovely 
duchess,  grateful  for  having  twice  owed  her  protection  to  his 
arm,  attended  him  daily  during  his  illness;  and  finally  re- 
warded his  gallantry  with  her  hand. 

The  king  would  fain  have  had  the  knight  establish  his  title 
to  such  high  advancement  by  farther  deeds  of  arms ;  but  his 
courtiers  declared  that  he  already  merited  the  lady,  by  thus 
vindicating  her  fame  and  fortune  in  a  deadly  combat  to  ou- 
trance;  and  the  lady  herself  hinted  that  she  was  perfectly 
satisfied  of  his  prowess  in  arms,  from  the  proofs  she  had  re- 
ceived in  his  achievement  in  the  forest. 

Their  nuptials  were  celebrated  with  great  magnificence. 
The  present  husband  of  the  duchess  did  not  pray  and  fast  like 
his  predecessor,  Philibert  the  wife-ridden ;  yet  he  found  greater 
favor  in  the  eyes  of  Heaven,  for  their  union  was  blessed  with 
a  numerous  progeny — the  daughters  chaste  and  beauteous  as 
their  mother ;  the  sons  stout  and  valiant  as  their  sire,  and  re- 
nowned, like  him,  for  relieving  disconsolate  damsels  and  deso- 
lated widows. 


THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE: 

A    SKETCH    FROM    A    STEAMBOAT. 

First  Published  in  1837. 

TN  travelling  about  our  motley  country,  I  am  often  reminded 
of  Ariosto's  account  of  the  moon,  in  which  the  good  paladin 


190  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

Astolpho  found  everything  garnered  up  that  had  been  lost  on 
earth.  So  I  am  apt  to  imagine,  that  many  things  lost  in  the 
old  world,  are  treasured  up  in  the  new ;  having  been  handed 
down  from  generation  to  generation,  since  the  early  days  of 
the  colonies.  A  European  antiquary,  therefore,  curious  in  his 
researches  after  the  ancient  and  almost  obliterated  customs 
and  usages  of  his  country,  would  do  well  to  put  himself  upon 
the  track  of  some  early  band  of  emigrants,  follow  them  across 
the  Atlantic,  and  rummage  among  their  descendants  on  our 
shores. 

In  the  phraseology  of  New  England  might  be  found  many  an 
old  English  provincial  phrase,  long  since  obsolete  in  the  parent 
country;  with  some  quaint  relics  of  the  roundheads;  while 
Virginia  cherishes  peculiarities  characteristic  of  the  days  of 
Elizabeth  and  Sir  Walter  Ealeigh. 

In  the  same  way  the  sturdy  yeomanry  of  New  Jersey  and 
Pennsylvania  keep  up  many  usages  fading  away  in  ancient 
Germany;  while  many  an  honest,  broad-bottomed  custom, 
nearly  extinct  in  venerable  Holland,  may  be  found  flourishing 
in  pristine  vigor  and  luxuriance  in  Dutch  villages,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Mohawk  and  the  Hudson. 

In  no  part  of  our  country,  however,  are  the  customs  and 
peculiarities,  imported  from  the  old  world  by  the  earlier 
settlers,  kept  up  with  more  fidelity  than  in  the  little,  poverty- 
stricken  villages  of  Spanish  and  French  origin,  which  border 
the  rivers  of  ancient  Louisiana.  Their  population  is  generally 
made  up  of  the  descendants  of  those  nations,  married  and 
interwoven  together,  and  occasionally  crossed  with  a  slight 
dash  of  the  Indian.  The  French  character,  however,  floats  on 
top,  as,  from  its  buoyant  qualities,  it  is  sure  to  do,  whenever  it 
forms  a  particle,  however  small,  of  an  intermixture. 

In  these  serene  and  dilapidated  villages,  art  and  nature  stand 
still,  and  the  world  forgets  to  turn  round.  The  revolutions 
that  distract  other  parts  of  this  mutable  planet,  reach  not  here, 
or  pass  over  without  leaving  any  trace.  The  fortunate  inhabi- 
tants have  none  of  that  public  spirit  which  extends  its  cares 
beyond  its  horizon,  and  imports  trouble  and  perplexity  from 
all  quarters  in  newspapers.  In  fact,  newspapers  are  almost 
unknown  in  these  villages,  and  as  French  is  the  current  lan- 
guage, the  inhabitants  have  little  community  of  opinion. with 
their  republican  neighbors.  They  retain,  therefore,  their  old 
habits  of  passive  obedience  to  the  decrees  of  government,  as 
though  they  still  lived  under  the  absolute  sway  of  colonial 


THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE.  191 

commandants,  instead  of  being  part  and  parcel  of  the  sovereign 
people,  and  having  a  voice  in  public  legislation. 

A  few  aged  men,  who  have  grown  gray  on  their  hereditary 
acres,  and  are  of  the  good  old  colonial  stock,  exert  a  patriar- 
chal sway  in  all  matters  of  public  and  private  import ;  their 
opinions  are  considered  oracular,  and  their  word  is  law. 

The  inhabitants,  moreover,  have  none  of  that  eagerness  for 
gain  and  rage  for  improvement  which  keep  our  people  continu- 
ally on  the  move,  and  our  country  towns  incessantly  in  a  state 
of  transition.  There  the  magic  phrases,  "town  lots,"  "water 
privileges,"  "railroads,"  and  other  comprehensive  and  soul- 
stirring  words  from  the  speculator's  vocabulary,  are  never 
heard.  The  residents  dwell  in  the  houses  built  by  their  fore- 
fathers, without  thinking  of  enlarging  or  modernizing  them, 
or  pulling  them  down  and  turning  them  into  granite  stores. 
The  trees,  under  which  they  have  been  born  and  have  played 
in  infancy,  flourish  undisturbed;  though,  by  cutting  them 
down,  they  might  open  new  streets,  and  put  money  in  their 
pockets.  In  a  word,  the  almighty  dollar,  that  great  object  of 
universal  devotion  throughout  our  land,  seems  to  have  no 
genuine  devotees  in  these  peculiar  villages ;  and  unless  some  of 
its  missionaries  penetrate  there,  and  erect  banking  houses  and 
other  pious  shrines,  there  is  no  knowing  how  long  the  inhabi- 
tants may  remain  in  their  present  state  of  contented  poverty. 

In  descending  one  of  our  great  Western  rivers  in  a  steam- 
boat, I  met  with  two  worthies  from  one  of  these  villages,  who 
had  been  on  a  distant  excursion,  the  longest  they  had  ever 
made,  as  they  seldom  ventured  far  from  home.  One  was  the 
great  man,  or  Grand  Seigneur,  of  the  village ;  not  that  he  en- 
joyed any  legal  privileges  or  power  there,  everything  of  the 
kind  having  been  done  away  when  the  province  was  ceded  by 
France  to  the  United  States.  His  sway  over  his  neighbors  was 
merely  ono  of  custom  and  convention,  out  of  deference  to  his 
family.  Beside,  he  was  worth  full  fifty  thousand  dollars,  an 
amount  almost  equal,  in  the  imaginations  of  the  villagers,  to 
the  treasures  of  King  Solomon. 

This  very  substantial  old  gentleman,  though  of  the  fourth  or 
fifth  generation  in  this  country,  retained  the  true  Gallic  fea- 
ture and  deportment,  and  reminded  me  of  one  of  those  provin- 
cial potentates  that  are  to  be  met  with  in  the  remote  parts  of 
France.  He  was  of  a  large  frame,  a  ginger-bread  complexion, 
strong  features,  eyes  that  stood  out  like  glass  knobs,  and  a 
prominent  nose,  which  he  frequently  regaled  from  a  gold 


192  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

snuff-box,  and  occasionally  blew,  with  a  colored    handker 
chief,  until  it  sounded  like  a  trumpet. 

He  was  attended  by  an  old  negro,  as  black  as  ebony,  with  a 
huge  mouth,  in  a  continual  grin ;  evidently  a  privileged  and 
favorite  servant,  who  had  grown  up  and  grown  old  with  him. 
He  was  dressed  in  Creole  style — with  white  jacket  and  trou- 
sers, a  stiff  shirt  collar,  that  threatened  to  cut  off  his  ears,  a 
bright  Madras  handkerchief  tied  round  his  head,  and  large 
gold  eai -rings.  He  was  the  politest  negro  I  met  with  in  a 
Western  tour ;  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal,  for,  excepting 
the  Indians,  the  negroes  are  the  most  gentlemanlike  person 
ages  to  be  met  with  in  those  parts.  It  is  true,  they  differ  from 
the  Indians  in  being  a  little  extra  polite  and  complimentary. 
He  was  also  one  of  the  merriest ;  and  here,  too,  the  negroes, 
however  we  may  deplore  their  unhappy  condition,  have  the 
advantage  of  then*  masters.  The  whites  are,  in  general,  too 
free  and  prosperous  to  be  merry.  The  cares  of  maintaining 
then*  rights  and  liberties,  adding  to  their  wealth,  and  making 
presidents,  engross  all  their  thoughts,  and  dry  up  all  the  mois- 
ture of  their  souls.  If  you  hear  a  broad,  hearty,  devil-may- 
care  laugh,  be  assured  it  is  a  negro's. 

Beside  this  African  domestic,  the  seigneur  of  the  village  had 
another  no  less  cherished  and  privileged  attendant.  This  was 
a  huge  dog,  of  the  mastiff  breed,  with  a  deep,  hanging  mouth, 
and  a  look  of  surly  gravity.  He  walked  about  the  cabin  with 
the  air  of  a  dog  perfectly  at  home,  and  who  had  paid  for  his 
passage.  At  dinner  time  he  took  his  seat  beside  his  master, 
giving  him  a  glance  now  and  then  out  of  a  corner  of  his  eye, 
which  bespoke  perfect  confidence  that  he  would  not  be  forgot- 
ten. Nor  was  he — every  now  and  then  a  huge  morsel  would 
be  thrown  to  him,  peradventure  the  half -picked  leg  of  a  fowl, 
which  he  would  receive  with  a  snap  like  the  springing  of  a 
steel-trap—  one  gulp,  and  all  was  down ;  and  a  glance  of  the  eye 
told  his  master  that  he  was  ready  for  another  consignment. 

The  other  village  worthy,  travelling  in  company  with  the 
seigneur,  was  of  a  totally  different  stamp.  Small,  thin,  and 
weazen-faced,  as  Frenchmen  are  apt  to  be  represented  in  cari- 
cature, with  a  bright,  squirrel-like  eye,  and  a  gold  ring  in  his 
ear.  His  dress  was  flimsy,  and  sat  loosely  on  his  frame,  and 
he  had  altogether  the  look  of  one  with  but  little  coin  in  his 
pocket.  Yet,  though  one  of  the  poorest,  I  was  assured  he  was 
one  of  the  merriest  and  most  popular  personages  in  his  native 
Village. 


THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE.  193 

Compere  Martin,  as  he  was  commonly  called,  was  the  facto- 
tum of  the  place— sportsman,  school-master,  and  land-sur- 
veyor. He  could  sing,  dance,  and,  above  all,  play  on  the  fid- 
dle, an  invaluable  accomplishment  in  an  old  French  Creole 
village,  for  the  inhabitants  have  a  hereditary  love  for  balls 
and  fetes ;  if  they  work  but  little,  they  dance  a  great  deal,  and 
a  fiddle  is  the  joy  of  their  heart. 

What  had  sent  Compere  Martin  travelling  with  the  Grand 
Seigneur  I  could  not  learn;  he  evidently  looked  up  to  him  with 
great  deference,  and  was  assiduous  in  rendering  him  petty  at- 
tentions ;  from  which  I  concluded  that  he  lived  at  home  upon 
the  crumbs  which  fell  from  his  table.  He  was  gayest  when 
out  of  his  sight ;  and  had  his  song  and  his  joke  when  forward, 
among  the  deck  passengers;  but  altogether  Compere  Martin 
was  out  of  his  element  on  board  of  a  steamboat.  He  was  quite 
another  being,  I  am  told,  when  at  home  in  his  own  village. 

Like  his  opulent  fellow-traveller,  he  too  had  his  canine  fol- 
lower and  retainer— and  one  suited  to  his  different  fortunes — 
one  of  the  civilest,  most  unoffending  little  dogs  in  the  world. 
Unlike  the  lordly  mastiff,  he  seemed  to  think  he  had  no  right 
on  board  of  the  steamboat ;  if  you  did  but  look  hard  at  him,  he 
would  throw  himself  upon  his  back,  and  lift  up  his  legs,  as  if 
imploring  mercy. 

At  table  he  took  his  seat  a  little  distance  from  his  master; 
not  with  the  bluff,  confident  air  of  the  mastiff,  but  quietly  and 
diffidently,  his  head  oil  one  side,  with  one  ear  dubiously 
slouched,  the  other  hopefully  cocked  up;  his  under  teeth 
projecting  beyond  his  black  nose,  and  his  eye  wistfully  fol- 
lowing each  morsel  that  went  into  his  master's  mouth. 

If  Compere  Martin  now  and  then  should  venture  to  abstract 
a  morsel  from  his  plate  to  give  to  his  humble  companion,  it 
was  edifying  to  see  with  what  diffidence  the  exemplary  little 
animal  would  take  hold  of  it,  with  the  very  tip  of  his  teeth,  as 
if  he  would  almost  rather  not,  or  was  fearful  of  taking  too 
great  a  liberty.  And  then  with  what  decorum  would  he  eat 
it !  How  many  efforts  would  he  make  in  swallowing  it,  as  if 
it  stuck  in  his  throat ;  with  what  daintiness  would  he  lick  his 
lips ;  and  then  with  what  an  air  of  thankfulness  would  he  re- 
sume his  seat,  with  his  teeth  once  more  projecting  beyond  his 
nose,  and  an  eye  of  humble  expectation  fixed  upon  his  master. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  steamboat  stopped  at 
the  village  which  was  the  residence  of  these  worthies.  It  stood 
on  the  high  bank  of  the  river,  and  bore  traces  of  having  been  a 


194  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

frontier  trading  post.  There  were  the  remains  of  stockades 
that  once  protected  it  from  the  Indians,  and  the  houses  were 
in  the  ancient  Spanish  and  French  colonial  taste,  the  place 
having  been  successively  under  the  domination  of  both  those 
nations  prior  to  the  cession  of  Louisiana  to  the  United  States. 

The  arrival  of  the  seigneur  of  fifty  thousand  dollars,  and 
his  humble  companion,  Compere  Martin,  had  evidently  been 
looked  forward  to  as  an  event  in  the  village.  Numbers  of 
men,  women,  and  children,  white,  yellow,  and  black,  were 
collected  on  the  river  bank ;  most  of  them  clad  in  old-fash- 
ioned French  garments,  and  their  heads  decorated  with  col- 
ored handkerchiefs,  or  white  night-caps.  The  moment  the 
steamboat  came  within  sight  and  hearing,  there  was  a  waving 
of  handkerchiefs,  and  a  screaming  and  bawling  of  salutations, 
and  felicitations,  that  baffle  all  description. 

The  old  gentleman  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  was  received  by 
a  train  of  relatives,  and  friends,  and  children,  and  grandchil- 
dren, whom  he  kissed  on  each  cheek,  and  who  formed  a  pro- 
cession in  his  rear,  with  a  legion  of  domestics,  of  all  ages,  fol- 
lowing him  to  a  large,  old-fashioned  French  house,  that  domi- 
neered over  the  village. 

His  black  valet-de-chambre,  in  white  jacket  and  trousers,  and 
gold  ear-rings,  was  met  on  the  shore  by  a  boon,  though  rustic 
companion,  a  tall  negro  fellow,  with  along,  good-humored  face, 
and  the  profile  of  a  horse,  which  stood  out  from  beneath  a  nar- 
row-rimmed straw  hat,  stuck  on  the  back  of  his  head.  The  ex- 
plosions of  laughter  of  these  two  varlets,  on  meeting  and  ex- 
changing compliments,  were  enough  to  electrify  the  country 
round. 

The  most  hearty  reception,  however,  was  that  given  to  Com- 
pere Martin.  Everybody,  young  and  old,  hailed  him  before 
he  got  to  land.  Everybody  had  a  joke  for  Compere  Martin, 
and  Compere  Martin  had  a  joke  for  everybody.  Even  his  little 
dog  appeared,  to  partake  of  his  popularity,  and  to  be  caressed 
by  every  hand.  Indeed,  he  was  quite  a  different  animal  the 
moment  he  touched  the  land.  Here  he  was  at  home;  here 
he  was  of  consequence.  He  barked,  he  leaped,  he  frisked  about 
his  old  friends,  and  then  would  skim  round  the  place  in  a  wide 
circle,  as  if  mad. 

I  traced  Compere  Martin  and  his  little  dog  to  their  home.  It 
was  an  old  ruinous  Spanish  house,  of  large  dimensions,  with 
rerandas  overshadowed  by  ancient  elms.  The  house  had  pro- 
bably been  the  residence,  in  old  times,  of  the  Spanish  com- 


THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE.  195 

mandant.  In  one  wing  of  this  crazy,  but  aristocratical  abode, 
was  nestled  the  family  of  my  fellow-traveller;  for  poor  devils 
are  apt  to  be  magnificently  clad  and  lodged,  in  the  cast-off 
clothes  and  abandoned  palaces  of  the  great  and  wealthy. 

The  arrival  of  Compere  Martin  was  welcomed  by  a  legion  of 
women,  children,  and  mongrel  curs ;  and,  as  poverty  and  gay- 
ety  generally  go  hand  in  hand  among  the  French  and  their 
descendants,  the  crazy  mansion  soon  resounded  with  loud  gossip 
and  light-hearted  laughter. 

As  the  steamboat  paused  a  short  time  at  the  village,  I  took 
occasion  to  stroll  about  the  place.  Most  of  the  houses  were  in 
the  French  taste,  with  casements  and  rickety  verandas,  but 
most  of  them  in  flimsy  and  ruinous  condition.  All  the  wagons, 
ploughs,  and  other  utensils  about  the  place  were  of  ancient  and 
inconvenient  Gallic  construction,  such  as  had  been  brought 
from  France  in  the  primitive  days  of  the  colony.  The  very 
looks  of  the  people  reminded  me  of  the  villages  of  France. 

From  one  of  the  houses  came  the  hum  of  a  spinning  wheel, 
accompanied  by  a  scrap  of  an  old  French  chanson,  which  I 
have  heard  many  a  time  among  the  peasantry  of  Languedoc, 
doubtless  a  traditional  song,  brought  over  by  the  first  French 
emigrants,  and  handed  down  from  generation  to  generation. 

Half  a  dozen  young  lasses  emerged  from  the  adjacent  dwell- 
ings, reminding  me,  by  their  light  step  and  gay  costume,  of 
senes  in  ancient  France,  where  taste  in  dress  comes  natural  to 
every  class  of  females.  The  trim  bodice  and  colored  petticoat, 
and  little  apron,  with  its  pockets  to  receive  the  hands  when  in 
an  attitude  for  conversation ;  the  colored  kerchief  wound  taste- 
fully round  the  head,  with  a  coquettish  knot  perking  above  one 
ear;  and  the  neat  slipper  and  tight  drawn  stocking,  with  its 
braid  of  narrow  ribbon  embracing  the  ankle  where  it  peeps 
from  its  mysterious  curtain.  It  is  from  this  ambush  that  Cupid 
sends  his  most  inciting  arrows. 

"While  I  was  musing  upon  the  recollections  thus  accidentally 
summoned  up,  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  fiddle  from  the  mansion 
of  Compere  Martin,  the  signal,  no  doubt,  for  a  joyous  gather- 
ing. I  was  disposed  to  turn  my  steps  thither,  ana  witness  the 
festivities  of  one  of  the  very  few  villages  I  had  met  with  in 
my  wide  tour,  that  was  yet  poor  enough  to  be  merry;  but  the 
bell  of  the  steamboat  summoned  me  to  re-embark. 

As  we  swept  away  from  the  shore,  I  cast  back  a  wistful  eye 
upon  the  moss-grown  roofs  and  ancient  elms  of  the  village, 
and  prayed  that  the  inhabitants  might  long  retain  their  happy 


196  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

ignorance,  their  absence  of  all  enterprise  and  improvement, 
their  respect  for  the  fiddle,  and  their  contempt  for  the  almighty 
dollar.*  I  fear,  however,  my  prayer  is  doomed  to  be  of  no 
avail.  In  a  little  while  the  steamboat  whirled  me  to  an 
American  town,  just  springing  into  bustling  and  prosperous 
existence. 

The  surrounding  forest  had  been  laid  out  in  town  lots ;  frames 
of  wooden  buildings  were  rising  from  among  stumps  and 
burnt  trees.  The  place  already  boasted  a  court-house,  a  jail, 
and  two  banks,  all  built  of  pine  boards,  on  the  model  of  Gre- 
cian temples.  There  were  rival  hotels,  rival  churches,  and 
rival  newspapers ;  together  with  the  usual  number  of  judges, 
and  generals,  and  governors;  not  to  speak  of  doctors  by  the 
dozen,  and  lawyers  by  the  score. 

The  place,  I  was  told,  was  in  an  astonishing  career  of  im- 
provement, with  a  canal  and  two  railroads  in  embryo.  Lots 
doubled  in  price  every  week ;  every  body  was  speculating  in 
land;  every  body  was  rich;  and  every  body  was  growing 
richer.  The  community,  however,  was  torn  to  pieces  by  new 
doctrines  in  religion  and  in  political  economy;  there  were 
camp  meetings,  and  agrarian  meetings;  and  an  election  was 
at  hand,  which,  it  was  expected,  would  throw  the  whole  coun- 
try into  a  paroxysm. 

Alas !  with  such  an  enterprising  neighbour,  what  is  to  become 
of  the  poor  little  Creole  village  1 


A  CONTENTED  MAN. 

IN  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries  there  is  a  sunny  corner  under 
the  wall  of  a  terrace  which  fronts  the  south.  Along  the  wall  is  a 
range  of  benches  commanding  a  view  of  the  walks  and  avenues 
of  the  garden.  This  genial  nook  is  a  place  of  great  resort  in 
the  latter  part  of  autumn,  and  in  fine  days  in  winter,  as  it 
seems  to  retain  the  flavor  of  departed  summer.  On  a  calm, 
bright  morning  it  is  quite  alive  with  nursery-maids  and  their 


*  This  phrase,  used  for  the  first  time  in  this  sketch,  has  since  passed  into  current 
Circulation,  and  by  some  has  been  questioned  as  savoring  of  irreverence.  Tho 
author,  therefore,  owes  it  to  his  orthodoxy  to  declare  that  no  irreverence  was 
Intended  even  to  the  dollar  itself;  which  he  is  aware  is  daily  becoming  more  and 
more  an  object  of  worship. 


A   CONTENTED  MAN.  107 

playful  little  charges.  Hither  also  resort  a  number  of  ancient 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  who,  "with  the  laudable  thrift  in  small 
pleasures  and  small  expenses  for  which  the  French  are  to  be 
noted,  come  here  to  enjoy  sunshine  and  save  firewood.  Here 
may  often  be  seen  some  cavalier  of  the  old  school,  when  the 
sunbeams  have  warmed  his  blood  into  something  like  a  glow, 
fluttering  about  like  a  frost-bitten  moth  before  the  fire,  put- 
ting forth  a  feeble  show  of  gallantry  among  the  antiquated 
dames,  and  now  and  then  eyeing  the  buxom  nursery-maids 
with  what  might  almost  be  mistaken  for  an  air  of  libertinism. 

Among  the  habitual  frequenters  of  this  place  I  had  often 
remarked  an  old  gentleman,  whose  dress  was  decidedly  anti- 
revolutional.  He  wore  the  three-cornered  cocked  hat  of  the 
ancien  regime ;  his  hair  was  frizzed  over  each  ear  into  ailes 
de  pigeon,  a  style  strongly  savouring  of  Bourbonism ;  and  a 
queue  stuck  out  behind,  the  loyalty  of  which  was  not  to  be 
disputed.  His  dress,  though  ancient,  had  an  air  of  decayed 
gentility,  and  I  observed  that  he  took  his  snuff  out  of  an 
elegant  though  old-fashioned  gold  box.  He  appeared  to  be  the 
most  popular  man  on  the  walk.  He  had  a  compliment  for 
every  old  lady,  he  kissed  every  child,  and  he  patted  every 
little  dog  on  the  head ;  for  children  and  little  dogs  are  very 
important  members  of  society  in  France.  I  must  observe, 
however,  that  he  seldom  kissed  a  child  without,  at  the  same 
time,  pinching  the  nursery-maid's  cheek ;  a  Frenchman  of  the 
old  school  never  forgets  his  devoirs  to  the  sex. 

I  had  taken  a  liking  to  this  old  gentleman.  There  was  an 
habitual  expression  of  benevolence  in  his  face  which  I  have 
very  frequently  remarked  in  these  relics  of  the  politer  days  of 
France.  The  constant  interchange  of  those  thousand  little 
courtesies  which  imperceptibly  sweeten  life  have  a  happy 
effect  upon  the  features,  and  spread  a  mellow  evening  charm 
over  the  wrinkles  of  old  age. 

Where  there  is  a  favorable  predisposition  one  soon  forms  a 
kind  of  tacit  intimacy  by  often  meeting  on  the  same  walks. 
Once  or  twice  I  accommodated  him  with  a  bench,  after  which 
we  touched  hats  on  passing  each  other;  at  length  we  got  so  far 
as  to  take  a  pinch  of  snuff  together  out  of  his  box,  which  is 
equivalent  to  eating  salt  together  in  the  East ;  from  that  time 
our  acquaintance  was  established. 

I  now  became  his  frequent  companion  in  his  morning  prome- 
nades, and  derived  much  amusement  from  his  good-humored 
remarks  on  men  and  manners.  One  morning,  as  we  were 


198  THE  CHAT6N  PAPERS. 

strolling  through  an  alley  of  the  Tuileries,  with  the  autumnal 
breeze  whirling  the  yellow  leaves  about  our  path,  my  com- 
panion fell  into  a  peculiarly  communicative  vein,  and  gave  me 
several  particulars  of  his  history.  He  had  once  been  wealthy, 
and  possessed  of  a  fine  estate  in  the  country  and  a  noble  hotel 
in  Paris;  but  the  revolution,  which  effected  so  many  disas- 
trous changes,  stripped  him  of  everything.  He  was  secretly 
denounced  by  his  own  steward  during  a  sanguinary  period  of 
the  revolution,  and  a  number  of  the  bloodhounds  of  the  Con- 
vention were  sent  to  arrest  him.  He  received  private  intelli- 
gence of  their  approach  in  time  to  effect  his  escape.  He  landed 
in  England  without  money  or  friends,  but  considered  himself 
singularly  fortunate  in  having  his  head  upon  his  shoulders; 
several  of  his  neighbors  having  been  guillotined  as  a  punish- 
ment for  being  rich. 

When  he  reached  London  he  had  but  a  louis  in  his  pocket, 
and  no  prospect  of  getting  another.  Ho  ate  a  solitary  dinner 
of  beefsteak,  and  was  almost  poisoned  by  port  wine,  which 
from  its  color  he  had  mistaken  for  claret.  The  dingy  look  of 
the  chop-house,  and  of  the  little  mahogany- colored  box  in 
which  he  ate  his  dkmer,  contrasted  sadly  with  the  gay  saloons 
of  Paris.  Everything  looked  gloomy  and  disheartening.  Pov- 
erty stared  him  in  the  face ;  he  turned  over  the  few  shillings 
he  had  of  change;  did  not  know  what  was  to  become  of  him; 
and — went  to  the  theatre ! 

He  took  his  seat  in  the  pit,  listened  attentively  to  a  tragedy 
of  which  he  did  not  understand  a  word,  and  which  seemed 
made  up  of  fighting,  and  stabbing,  and  scene-shifting,  and 
began  to  feel  his  spirits  sinking  within  him;  when,  casting  his 
eyes  into  the  orchestra,  what  was  his  surprise  to  recognize  an 
old  friend  and  neighbor  in  the  very  act  of  extorting  music 
from  a  huge  violoncello. 

As  soon  as  the  evening's  performance  was  over  he  tapped  his 
friend  on  the  shoulder;  they  kissed  each  other  on  each  cheek, 
and  the  musician  took  him  home,  and  shared  his  lodgings 
with  him.  He  had  learned  music  as  an  accomplishment  \  by 
his  friend's  advice  he  now  turned  to  it  as  a  means  of  support. 
He  procured  a  violin,  offered  himself  for  the  orchestra,  was 
received,  and  again  considered  himself  one  of  the  most  fortu- 
nate men  upon  earth. 

Here  therefore  he  lived  for  many  years  during  the  ascen- 
dancy of  the  terrible  Napoleon.  He  found  several  emigrants 
living,  like  himself,  by  the  exercise  of  their  talents.  They 


CONTENTED  MAN.  199 

associated  together  talked  of  France  and  of  old  times,  and 
endeavored  to  keep  up  a  semblance  of  Parisian  life  in  the 
centre  of  London. 

They  dined  at  a  miserable  cheap  French  restaurant  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Leicester-square,  where  they  were  served  with 
a  caricature  of  French  cookery.  They  took  their  promenade 
in  St.  James's  Park,  and  endeavored  to  fancy  it  the  Tuileries; 
in  short,  they  made  shift  to  accommodate  themselves  to  every- 
thing but  an  English  Sunday.  Indeed  the  old  gentleman 
seemed  to  have  nothing  to  say  against  the  English,  whom  he 
affirmed  to  be  braves  gens;  and  he  mingled  so  much  among 
them  that  at  the  end  of  twenty  years  he  could  speak  their 
language  almost  well  enough  to  be  understood. 

The  downfall  of  Napoleon  was  another  epoch  in  his  life.  He 
had  considered  himself  a  fortunate  man  to  make  his  escape 
penniless  out  of  France,  and  he  considered  himself  fortunate 
to  be  able  to  return  penniless  into  it.  It  is  true  that  he  found 
his  Parisian  hotel  had  passed  through  several  hands  during 
the  vicissitudes  of  the  times,  so  as  to  be  beyond  the  reach  ot 
recovery ;  but  then  he  had  been  noticed  benignantly  by  gov- 
ernment, and  had  a  pension  of  several  hundred  francs,  upon 
which,  with  careful  management,  he  lived  independently,  and, 
as  far  as  I  could  judge,  happily. 

As  his  once  splendid  hotel  was  now  occupied  as  a  hotel 
garni,  he  hired  a  small  chamber  in  the  attic ;  it  was  but,  as  he 
said,  changing  his  bedroom  up  two  pair  of  stairs— he  was  still 
in  his  own  house.  His  room  was  decorated  with  pictures  of 
several  beauties  of  former  times,  with  whom  he  professed  to 
have  been  on  favorable  terms:  among  them  was  a  favorite 
opera-dancer;  who  had  been  the  admiration  of  Paris  at  the 
breaking  out  of  the  revolution.  She  had  been  a  protegee  of 
my  friend,  and  one  of  the  few  of  his  youthful  favorites  who 
had  survived  the  lapse  of  time  and  its  various  vicissitudes. 
They  had  renewed  their  acquaintance,  and  she  now  and  then 
visited  him;  but  the  beautiful  Psyche,  once  the  fashion  of  the 
day  and  the  idol  of  the  parterre,  was  now  a  shrivelled,  little 
old  woman,  warped  in  the  back,  and  with  a  hooked  nose. 

The  old  gentleman  was  a  devout  attendant  upon  levees;  he 
was  most  zealous  in  his  loyalty,  and  could  not  speak  of  the 
royal  family  without  a  burst  of  enthusiasm,  for  he  still  felt 
towards  them  as  his  companions  in  exile.  As  to  his  poverty 
he  made  light  of  it,  and  indeed  had  a  good-humored  way  of 
consoling  himself  for  every  cross  and  privation.  If  he  had 


200  THE  CRAYON  PAPERS. 

lost  his  chateau  in  the  country,  he  had  half  a  dozen  royal 
palaces,  as  it  were,  at  his  command.  He  had  Versailles  and 
St.  Cloud  for  his  country  resorts,  and  the  shady  alleys  of  the 
Tuileries,  and  the  Luxembourg  for  his  town  recreation.  Thus 
all  his  promenades  and  relaxations  were  magnificent,  yet 
cost  nothing. 

When  I  walk  through  these  fine  gardens,  said  he,  I  have  only 
to  fancy  myself  the  owner  of  them,  and  they  are  mine.  All 
these  gay  crowds  are  my  visitors,  and  I  defy  the  grand  seignior 
himself  to  display  a  greater  variety  of  beauty.  Nay,  what  is 
better,  I  have  not  the  trouble  of  entertaining  them.  My  estate 
is  a  perfect  Sans  Souci,  where  every  one  does  as  he  pleases,  and 
no  one  troubles  the  owner.  All  Paris  is  my  theatre,  and  pre- 
sents me  with  a  continual  spectacle.  I  have  a  table  spread  for 
me  in  every  street,  and  thousands  of  waiters  ready  to  fly  at  my 
bidding.  When  my  servants  have  waited  upon  me  I  pay  them, 
discharge  them,  and  there's  an  end;  I  have  no  fears  of  their 
wronging  or  pilfering  me  when  my  back  is  turned.  Upon  the 
whole,  said  the  old  gentleman,  with  a  smile  of  infinite  good- 
humor,  when  I  think  upon  the  various  risks  I  have  run,  and 
the  manner  in  which  I  have  escaped  them;  when  I  recollect  all 
that  I  have  suffered,  and  consider  all  that  I  at  present  enjoy,  I 
cannot  but  look  upon  myself  as  a  man  of  singular  good  fortune. 

Such  was  the  brief  history  of  this  practical  philosopher,  and 
it  is  a  picture  of  many  a  Frenchman  ruined  by  the  revolution. 
The  French  appear  to  have  a  greater  facility  than  most  men  in 
accommodating  themselves  to  the  reverses  of  life,  and  of  ex- 
tracting honey  out  of  the  bitter  things  of  this  world.  The  first 
shock  of  calamity  is  apt  to  overwhelm  them,  but  when  it  is 
once  past,  their  natural  buoyancy  of  feeling  soon  brings  them 
to  the  surface.  This  may  be  called  the  result  of  levity  of 
character,  but  it  answers  the  end  of  reconciling  us  to  misfor- 
tune, and  if  it  be  not  true  philosophy,  it  is  something  almost  as 
efficacious.  Ever  since  I  have  heard  the  story  of  my  little 
Frenchman,  I  have  treasured  it  up  in  my  heart;  and  I  thank 
my  stars  I  have  at  length  found  what  I  had  long  considered  as 
not  to  be  found  on  earth— a  contented  man. 

P.S.  There  is  no  calculating  on  human  happiness.  Since 
writing  the  foregoing,  the  law  of  indemnity  has  been  passed, 
and  my  friend  restored  to  a  great  part  of  his  fortune.  I  was 
absent  from  Paris  at  the  time,  but  on  my  return  hastened  to 
congratulate  him,  I  found  him  magnificently  lodged  on  the 


A   CONTENTED  MAN.  201 

first  floor  of  his  hotel.  I  was  ushered,  by  a  servant  in  livery, 
through  splendid  saloons,  to  a  cabinet  richly  furnished,  where 
I  found  my  little  Frenchman  reclining  on  a  couch.  He  received 
me  with  his  usual  cordiality ;  but  I  saw  the  gayety  and  benevo- 
lence of  his  countenance  had  fled ;  he  had  an  eye  full  of  care 
and  anxiety. 

I  congratulated  him  on  his  good  fortune.  "  Good  fortune?" 
echoed  he ;  "  bah !  I  have  been  plundered  of  a  princely  fortune, 
and  they  give  me  a  pittance  as  an  indemnity." 

Alas !  I  found  my  late  poor  and  contented  friend  one  of  the 
richest  and  most  miserable  men  in  Paris.  Instead  of  rejoicing 
in  the  ample  competency  restored  to  him,  he  is  daily  repining 
at  the  superfluity  withheld.  He  no  longer  wanders  in  happy 
idleness  about  Paris,  but  is  a  repining  attendant  in  the  ante- 
chambers of  ministers.  His  loyalty  has  evaporated  with  his 
gayety ;  he  screws  his  mouth  when  the  Bourbons  are  mentioned, 
and  even  shrugs  his  shoulders  when  he  hears  the  praises  of  the 
king.  In  a  word,  he  is  one  of  the  many  philosophers  undone 
by  the  law  of  indemnity,  and  his  case  is  desperate,  for  I  doubt 
whether  even  another  reverse  of  fortune,  which  should  restore 
him  to  poverty,  could  make  him  again  a  happy  man. 


A    TOUR 


OF 


THE  PEAIEIES. 


BY 


WASHINGTON     IRVING. 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGB 

Introduction u 

L  The  Pawnee  Hunting  Grounds— Travelling  Companions— A  Commis- 
sioner—A Virtuoso— A  Seeker  of  Adventures— A  Gil  Bias  of  the 
Frontier— A  Young  Man's  Anticipations  of  Pleasure 7 

n.  Anticipations  Disappointed — New  Plans — Preparations  to  Join  an  Ex- 
ploring Party— Departure  from  Fort  Gibson— Fording  of  the  Ver- 
digris—An Indian  Cavalier 10 

HI.  An  Indian  Agency— Riflemen— Osages,  Creeks,  Trappers,  Dogs,  Horses, 

Half-breeds— Beatte,  the  Huntsman 13 

FP.  The  Departure W 

V.  Frontier  Scenes— A   Lycurgus   of    the  Border— Lynch's   Law- -The 

Danger  of  Finding  a  Horse— The  Young  Osage 17 

VI.  Trail  of  the  Osage  Hunters— Departure  of  the  Count  and  his  Party— A 

Deserted  War-Camp— A  Vagrant  Dog— The  Encampment 21 

VII.  News  of  the  Rangers— The  Count  and  his  Indian  Squire— Halt  in  the 
Woods— Woodland  Scene— Osage  Village— Osage  Visitors  at  our 
Evening  Camp  23 

HI.  The  Honey  Camp 28 

IX.  A  Bee  Hunt 30 

X.  Amusements  in  the  Camp— Consultations— Hunters'  Fare  and  Feast- 
ing—Evening Scenes— Camp  Melody— The  Fate  of  an  Amateur  Owl.  33 

XI.  Breaking  up  of  the  Encampment— Picturesque  March— Game— Camp 
Scenes— Triumph  of  a  Young  Hunter— 111  Success  of  an  Old  Hunter 

—Foul  Murder  of  a  Pole  Cat 37 

XH.  The  Crossing  of  the  Arkansas 42 

Xm.  The  Camp  of  the  Glen— Camp  Gossip— Pawnees  and  their  Habits— A 

Hunter's  Adventure — Horses  found  and  Men  Lost 44 

XIT.  Deer  Shooting— Life  on  the  Prairies— Beautiful  Encampments-Hunter's 

Luck— Anecdotes  of  the  Delawares  and  their  Superstitions SO 

XV.  The  Search  for  the  Elk— Pawnee  Stories 54 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVI.  A  Sick  Camp— The  March— The  Disabled  Horse— Old  Ryan  and  the 
Stragglers  —  Symptoms  of  change  of  Weather  and  change  of 
Humors 59 

ivil.  Thunder-storm  on  the  Prairies  —  The   Storm   Encampment  —  Night 

Scene— Indian  Stories— A  Frightened  Horse 63 

XVm.  A  Grand  Prairie  —  Cliff  Castle  —  Buffalo  Tracks— Deer  Hunted  by 

Wolves— Cross  Timber 66 

TTT   Hunter's  Anticipations— The  Rugged  Ford— A  Wild  Horse 69 

XX.  The  Camp  of  the  Wild  Horse— Hunters'  Stories— Habits  of  the  Wild 
Horse— The  Half-breed  and  his  Prize— A  Horse  Chase— A  Wild  Spirit 
Tamed 72 

XXI.  The  Fording  of  the  Red  Fork— The  Dreary  Forests  of  the  "Cross 

Timber"— Buffalo  1 77 

XXII.  The  Alarm  Camp  80 

3nrm.  Beaver  Dam  — Buffalo  and  Horse  Tracks  — A  Pawnee  Trail  — Wild 

Horses — The  Young  Hunter  and  the  Bear — Change  of  Route 86 

XXIV.  Scarcity  of  Bread— Rencontre  with  Buffaloes— Wild  Turkeys— Fall  of  a 

Buffalo  Bull 89 

XXV.  Ringing  the  Wild  Horse 92 

XXVI.  Fording  of  the  North  Fork— Dreary  Scenery  of  the  Cross  Timber— 
Scamper  of  Horses  in  the  Night— Osage  War  Party— Effects  of  a 

Peace  Harangue— Buffalo— Wild  Horse 95 

XXVU.  Foul  Weather  Encampment  —  Anecdotes  of  Bear  Hunting  —  Indian 

Notions  about  Omens— Scruples  respecting  the  Dead 98 

XXVm.  A  Secret  Expedition— Deer  Bleating— Magic  Bells 105 

XXIX.  The  Grand  Prairie— A  Buffalo  Hunt 108 

XXX.  A  Comrade  Lost^A  Search  for  the  Camp— Commissioner,  the  Wild 

Horse,  and  the  Buffalo— A  Wolf  Serenade 115 

XXXI.  A  Hunt  for  a  Lost  Comrade 117 

XYXTT.  A  Republic  of  Prairie  Dogs 191 


HAVING,  since  my  return  to  the  United  States,  made  a  wide 
and  varied  tour,  for  the  gratification  of  my  curiosity,  it  has 
been  supposed  that  I  did  it  for  the  purpose  of  writing  a  hook ; 
and  it  has  more  than  once  been  intimated  in  the  papers,  that 
such  a  work  was  actually  in  the  press,  containing  scenes  and 
sketches  of  the  Far  West. 

These  announcements,  gratuitously  made  for  me,  before  I 
had  put  pen  to  paper,  or  even  contemplated  any  thing  of  the 
kind,  have  embarrassed  me  exceedingly.  I  have  been  like  a 
poor  actor,  who  finds  himself  announced  for  a  part  he  had  no 
thought  of  playing,  and  his  appearance  expected  on  the  stage 
before  he  has  committed  a  line  to  memory. 

I  have  always  had  a  repugnance,  amounting  almost  to  dis- 
ability, to  write  in  the  face  of  expectation ;  and,  in  the  present 
instance,  I  was  expected  to  write  about  a  region  fruitful  of 
wonders  and  adventures,  and  whi  h  had  already  been  made 
the  theme  of  spirit-stirring  narratives  from  able  pens;  yet 
about  which  I  had  nothing  wonderful  or  adventurous  to  offer. 

Since  such,  however,  seems  to  be  the  desire  of  the  public, 
and  that  they  take  sufficient  interest  in  my  wanderings  to 
deem  them  worthy  of  recital,  I  have  hastened,  as  promptly  as 
possible,  to  meet,  in  some  degree,  the  expectation  which  others 
have  excited.  For  this  purpose,  I  have,  as  it  were,  plucked  a 
few  leaves  out  of  my  memorandum  book,  containing  a  month's 
foray  beyond  the  outposts  of  human  habitation,  into  the  wilder- 
ness of  the  Far  West.  It  forms,  indeed,  but  a  small  portion 
of  an  extensive  tour ;  but  it  is  an  episode,  complete  as  far  as  it 
goes.  As  such,  I  offer  it  to  the  public,  with  great  diffidence. 
It  is  a  simple  narrative  of  every -day  occurrences;  such  as 
happen  to  every  one  who  travels  the  prairies.  I  have  no  won- 
ders to  describe,  nor  any  moving  accidents  by  flood  or  field  to 
narrate ;  and  as  to  those  who  look  for  a  marvellous  or  adven- 
turous story  at  my  hands,  I  can  only  reply,  in  the  words  of 
the  weary  knife-grinder:  "Story !  God  bless  you,  I  have  none 
to  tell,  sir." 


A  TOUK  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  PAWNEE  HUNTING  GROUNDS. — TRAVELLING  COMPANIONS. — 
A  COMMISSIONER.— A  VIRTUOSO.— A  SEEKER  OF  ADVENTURES. 
— A  GIL  BLAS  OF  THE  FRONTIER. — A  YOUNG  MAN'S  ANTICIPA- 
TIONS OF  PLEASURE. 

IN  the  often  vaunted  regions  of  the  Far  West,  several  hun- 
dred miles  beyond  the  Mississippi,  extends  a  vast  tract  of  un- 
inhabited country,  where  there  is  neither  to  be  seen  the  log- 
house  of  the  white  man,  nor  the  wigwam  of  the  Indian.  It 
consists  of  great  grassy  plains,  interspersed  with  forests  and 
groves,  and  clumps  of  trees,  and  watered  by  the  Arkansas,  the 
grand  Canadian,  the  Red  River,  and  their  tributary  streams. 
Over  these  fertile  and  verdant  wastes  still  roam  the  elk,  the 
buffalo,  and  the  wild  horse,  in  all  their  native  freedom.  These, 
in  fact,  are  the  hunting  grounds  of  the  various  tribes  of  the 
Far  West.  Hither  repair  the  Osage,  the  Creek,  the  Delaware 
and  other  tribes  that  have  linked  themselves  with  civilization, 
and  live  within  the  vicinity  of  the  white  settlements.  Here 
resort  also,  the  Pawnees,  the  Comanches,  and  other  fierce, 
and  as  yet  independent  tribes,  the  nomads  of  the  prairies,  or 
the  inhabitants  of  the  skirts  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  The 
regions  I  have  mentioned  form  a  debatable  ground  of  these 
warring  and  vindictive  tribes ;  none  of  them  presume  to  erect 
a  permanent  habitation  within  its  borders.  Their  hunters 
and  "Braves"  repair  thither  in  numerous  bodies  during  the 
season  of  game,  throw  up  their  transient  hunting  camps,  con- 
sisting of  light  bowers  covered  with  bark  and  skins,  commit 
sad  havoc  among  the  innumerable  herds  that  graze  the  prairies, 
and  having  loaded  themselves  with  venison  and  buffalo  meat, 
warily  retire  from  the  dangerous  neighborhood.  Those  expe- 
ditions partake,  always,  of  a  warlike  character;  the  hunteri 


g  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

are  all  armed  for  action,  offensive  and  defensive,  and  are  bound 
to  incessant  vigilance.  Should  they,  in  their  excursions,  meet 
the  hunters  of  an  adverse  tribe,  savage  conflicts  take  place. 
Their  encampments,  too,  are  always  subject  to  be  surprised 
by  wandering  war  parties,  and  their  hunters,  when  scattered 
in  pursuit  of  game,  to  be  captured  or  massacred  by  lurking 
foes.  Mouldering  skulls  and  skeletons,  bleaching  .in  some  dark 
ravine,  or  near  the  traces  of  a  hunting  camp,  occasionally  mark 
the  scene  of  a  foregone  act  of  blood,  and  let  the  wanderer  know 
the  dangerous  nature  of  the  region  he  is  traversing.  It  is 
the  purport  of  the  following  pages  to  narrate  a  month's  ex- 
cursion to  these  noted  hunting  grounds,  through  a  tract  of 
country  which  had  not  as  yet  been  explored  by  white  men. 

It  was  early  in  October,  1832,  that  I  arrived  at  Fort  Gibson, 
a  frontier  post  of  the  Far  West,  situated  on  the  Neosho,  or 
Grand  River,  near  its  confluence  with  the  Arkansas.  I  had 
been  travelling  for  a  month  past,  with  a  small  party  from  St. 
Louis,  up  the  banks  of  the  Missouri,  and  along  the  frontier 
line  of  agencies  and  missions  that  extends  from  the  Missouri 
to  the  Arkansas.  Our  party  was  headed  by  one  of  the  Com- 
missioners appointed  by  the  government  of  the  United  States, 
to  superintend  the  settlement  of  the  Indian  tribes  migrating 
from  the  east  to  the  west  of  the  Mississippi.  In  the  discharge 
of  his  duties,  he  was  thus  visiting  the  various  outposts  of  civili- 
zation. 

And  here  let  me  bear  testimony  to  the  merits  of  this  worthy 
leader  of  our  little  band.  He  was  a  native  of  one  of  the  towns 
ot  Connecticut,  a  man  in  whom  a  course  of  legal  practice  and 
political  lif  e  had  not  been  able  to  vitiate  an  innate  simplicity 
and  benevolence  of  heart.  The  greater  part  of  his  days  had 
been  passed  in  the  bosom  of  his  family  and  the  society  of  dea- 
cons, elders,  and  selectmen,  on  the  peaceful  banks  of  the  Con- 
necticut; when  suddenly  he  had  been  called  to  mount  his 
steed,  shoulder  his  rifle,  and  mingle  among  stark  hunters, 
backwoodsmen,  and  naked  savages,  on  the  trackless  wilds  of 
the  Far  West. 

Another  of  my  fellow-travellers  was  Mr.  L.,  an  Englishman 
by  birth,  but  descended  from  a  foreign  stock;  and  who  had  all 
the  buoyancy  and  accommodating  spirit  of  a  native  of  the 
Continent.  Having  rambled  over  many  countries,  he  had  be- 
come, to  a  certain  degree,  a  citizen  of  the  world,  easily  adapt- 
ing himself  to  any  change.  He  was  a  man  of  a  thousand 
occupations;  a  botanist,  a  geologist,  a  hunter  of  beetles  and 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  9 

butterflies,  a  musical  amateur,  a  sketcher  of  no 'mean  preten- 
sions, in  short,  a  complete  virtuoso ;  added  to  which,  he  was  a 
very  indefatigable,  if  not  always  a  very  successful,  sportsman. 
Never  had  a  man  more  irons  in  the  fire,  and,  consequently, 
never  was  man  more  busy  nor  more  cheerful. 

My  tliird  fellow-traveller  was  one  who  had  accompanied  the 
former  from  Europe,  and  travelled  with  him  as  his  Telema- 
chus ;  being  apt,  like  his  prototype,  to  give  occasional  perplex- 
ity and  disquiet  to  his  Mentor.  He  was  a  young  Swiss  Count, 
scarce  twenty-one  years  of  age,  full  of  talent  and  spirit,  but 
galliard  in  the  extreme,  and  prone  to  every  kind  of  wild  ad- 
venture. 

Having  made  this  mention  of  my  comrades,  I  must  not  pass 
over  unnoticed,  a  personage  of  inferior  rank,  but  of  all-per- 
vading and  prevalent  importance :  the  squire,  the  groom,  the 
cook,  the  tent  man,  in  a  word,  the  factotum,  and,  I  may  add, 
the  universal  meddler  and  marplot  of  our  party.  This  was  a 
little  swarthy,  meagre,  French  Creole,  named  Antoine,  but 
familiarly  dubbed  Tonish:  a  kind  of  Gil  Bias  of  the  frontier, 
who  had  passed  a  scrambling  life,  sometimes  among  white 
men,  sometimes  among  Indians ;  sometimes  in  the  employ  of 
traders,  missionaries,  and  Indian  agents;  sometimes  mingling 
with  the  Osage  hunters.  We  picked  him  up  at  St.  Louis,  near 
which  he  had  a  small  farm,  an  Indian  wife,  and  a  brood  of 
half-blood  children.  According  to  his  own  account,  however, 
he  had  a  wife  in  every  tribe ;  in  fact,  if  all  this  little  vagabond 
said  of  himself  were  to  be  believed,  he  was  without  morals, 
without  caste,  without  creed,  without  country,  and  even  with- 
out language ;  for  he  spoke  a  jargon  of  mingled  French,  En- 
glish, and  Osage.  He  was,  withal,  a  notorious  braggart,  and  a 
liar  of  the  first  water.  It  was  amusing  to  hear  him  vapor  and 
gasconade  about  his  terrible  exploits  and  hairbreadth  escapes 
in  war  and  hunting.  In  the  midst  of  his  volubility,  he  was 
prone  to  be  seized  by  a  spasmodic  gasping,  as  if  the  springs 
of  his  jaws  were  suddenly  unhinged ;  but  I  am  apt  to  think  it 
was  caused  by  some  falsehood  that  stuck  in  his  throat,  for  I 
generally  remarked  that  immediately  afterward  there  bolted 
forth  a  lie  of  the  first  magnitude. 

Our  route  had  been  a  pleasant  one,  quartering  ourselves,  oc. 
casionally,  at  the  widely  separated  establishments  of  the  Indian 
missionaries,  but  in  general  camping  out  in  the  fine  groves 
that  border  the  streams,  and  sleeping  under  cover  of  a  tent. 
During  the  latter  part  of  our  tour  we  had  pressed  forward,  in 


10  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

hopes  of  arriving  in  time  at  Fort  Gibson  to  accompany  the 
Osage  hunters  on  their  autumnal  visit  to  the  buffalo  prairies. 
Indeed  the  imagination  of  the  young  Count  had  become  com- 
pletely excited  on  the  subject.  The  grand  scenery  and  wild 
habits  of  the  prairies  had  set  his  spirits  madding,  and  the 
stories  that  little  Tonish  told  him  of  Indian  braves  and  Indian 
beauties,  of  hunting  buffaloes  and  catching  wild  horses,  had 
set  him  all  agog  for  a  dash  into  savage  lif e.  He  was  a  bold 
and  hard  rider,  and  longed  to  be  scouring  the  hunting  grounds. 
It  was  amusing  to  hear  his  youthful  anticipations  of  all  that 
he  was  to  see,  and  do,  and  enjoy,  when  mingling  among  the 
Indians  and  participating  in  their  hardy  adventures ;  and  it 
was  still  more  amusing  to  listen  to  the  gasconadings  of  little 
Tonish,  who  volunteered  to  be  his  faithful  squire  in  all  his 
perilous  undertakings;  to  teach  him  how  to  catch  the  wild 
horse,  bring  down  the  buffalo,  and  win  the  smiles  of  Indian 
princesses; — "And  if  we  can  only  get  sight  of  a  prairie  on 
fire !"  said  the  young  Count — "  By  Gar,  I'll  set  one  on  fire  my- 
self!" cried  the  little  Frenchman. 


CHAPTER  II. 

ANTICIPATIONS  DISAPPOINTED. — NEW  PLANS. — PREPARATIONS  TO 
JOIN  AN  EXPLORING  PARTY. — DEPARTURE  FROM  FORT  GIBSON. 
—FORDING  OF  THE  VERDIGRIS.— AN  INDIAN  CAVALIER. 

THE  anticipations  of  a  young*  man  are  prone  to  meet  with 
disappointment.  Unfortunately  for  the*  Count's  scheme  of 
wild  campaigning,  before  we  reached  the  end  of  our  journey, 
we  heard  that  the  Osage  hunters  had  set  forth  upon  their  ex- 
pedition to  the  buffalo  grounds.  The  Count  still  determined, 
if  possible,  to  follow  on  their  track  and  overtake  them,  and  for 
this  purpose  stopped  short  at  the  Osage  Agency,  a  few  miles 
distant  from  Fort  Gibson,  to  make  inquiries  and  preparations. 
His  travelling  companion,  Mr.  L.,  stopped  with  him;  while  the 
Commissioner  and  myself  proceeded  to  Fort  Gibson,  followed 
by  the  faithful  and  veracious  Tonish.  I  hinted  to  him  his 
promises  to  follow  the  Count  in  his  campaignings,  but  I  found 
the  little  varlet  had  a  keen  eye  to  self-interest.  He  was  aware 
that  the  Commissioner,  from  his  official  duties,  would  remain 


A   TOUR  ON  TEE  PRAIRIES.  H 

for  a  long  time  in  the  country,  and  be  likely  to  give  him  perma- 
nent employment,  while  the  sojourn  of  the  Count  would  be 
but  transient.  The  gasconading  of  the  little  braggart  was 
suddenly  therefore  at  an  end.  He  spake  not  another  word  to 
the  young  Count  about  Indians,  buffaloes,  and  wild  horses, 
but  putting  himself  tacitly  in  the  train  of  the  Commissioner, 
jogged  silently  after  us  to  the  garrison. 

On  arriving  at  the  fort,  however,  a  new  chance  presented 
itself  for  a  cruise  on  the  prairies.  We  learnt  that  a  company 
of  mounted  rangers,  or  riflemen,  had  departed  but  three  days 
previous  to  make  a  wide  exploring  tour  from  the  Arkansas  to 
the  Red  Eiver,  including  a  part  of  the  Pawnee  hunting  grounds 
where  no  party  of  white  men  had  as  yet  penetrated.  Here, 
then,  was  an  opportunity  of  ranging  over  those  dangerous  and 
interesting  regions  under  the  safeguard  of  a  powerful  escort ; 
for  the  Commissioner,  in  virtue  of  his  office,  could  claim  the 
service  of  this  newly  raised  corps  of  riflemen,  and  the  country 
they  were  to  explore  was  destined  for  the  settlement  of  some 
of  the  migrating  tribes  connected  with  his  mission. 

Our  plan  was  promptly  formed  and  put  into  execution.  A 
couple  of  Creek  Indians  were  sent  off  express,  by  the  com- 
mander of  Fort  Gibson,  to  overtake  the  rangers  and  bring 
them  to  a  halt  until  the  Commissioner  and  his  party  should 
be  able  to  join  them.  As  we  should  have  a  march  of  three 
or  four  days  through  a  wild  country  before  we  could  over- 
take the  company  of  rangers,  an  escort  of  fourteen  mounted 
riflemen,  under  the  command  of  a  lieutenant,  was  assigned  us. 

We  sent  word  to  the  young  Count  and  Mr.  L.  at  the  Osage 
Agency,  of  our  new  plan  and  prospects,  and  invited  them  to 
accompany  us.  The  Count,  however,  could  not  forego  the  de- 
lights he  had  promised  himself  in  mingling  with  absolutely 
savage  life.  In  reply,  he  agreed  to  keep  with  us  until  we 
should  come  upon  the  trail  of  the  Osage  hunters,  when  it  was 
his  fixed  resolve  to  strike  off  into  the  wilderness  in  pursuit  of 
them;  and  his  faithful  Mentor,  though  he  grieved  at  the  mad- 
ness of  the  scheme,  was  too  stanch  a  friend  to  desert  him.  A 
general  rendezvous  of  our  party  and  escort  was  appointed,  for 
the  following  morning,  at  the  Agency. 

We  now  made  all  arrangements  for  prompt  departure.  Our 
baggage  had  hitherto  been  transported  on  a  light  wagon,  but  we 
were  now  to  break  our  way  through  an  untravelled  country, 
cut  up  by  rivers,  ravines,  and  thickets,  where  a  vehicle  of  the 
kind  would  be  a  complete  impediment.  We  were  to  travel  on 


12  A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

horseback,  in  hunter's  style,  and  with  as  little  encumbrance  as 
possible.  Our  baggage,  therefore,  underwent  a  rigid  and  most 
abstemious  reduction.  A  pair  of  saddle-bags,  and  those  by  no 
means  crammed,  sufficed  for  each  man's  scanty  wardrobe,  and, 
with  his  great  coat,  were  to  be  carried  upon  the  steed  he  rode. 
The  rest  of  the  baggage  was  placed  on  pack-horses.  Each 
one  had  a  bear-skin  and  a  couple  of  blankets  for  bedding,  and 
there  was  a  tent  to  shelter  us  in  case  of  sickness  or  bad 
weather.  We  took  care  to  provide  ourselves  with  flour,  coffee, 
and  sugar,  together  with  a  small  supply  of  salt  pork  for  emer- 
gencies ;  for  our  main  subsistence  we  were  to  depend  upon  the 
chase. 

Such  of  our  horses  as  had  not  been  tired  out  in  our  recent 
journey,  were  taken  with  us  as  pack-horses,  or  supernumera- 
ries ;  but  as  we  were  going  on  a  long  and  rough  tour,  where 
there  would  be  occasional  hunting,  and  where,  in  case  of  meet- 
ing with  hostile  savages,  the  safety  of  the  rider  might  depend 
upon  the  goodness  of  his  steed,  we  took  care  to  be  well 
mounted.  I  procured  a  stout  silver-gray;  somewhat  rough, 
but  stanch  and  powerful ;  and  retained  a  hardy  pony  which  I 
had  hitherto  ridden,  and  which,  being  somewhat  jaded,  was 
suffered  to  ramble  along  with  the  pack-horses,  to  be  mounted 
only  in  case  of  emergency. 

All  these  arrangements  being  made,  we  left  Fort  Gibson,  on 
the  morning  of  the  tenth  of  October,  and  crossing  the  river  in 
front  of  it,  set  off  for  the  rendezvous  at  the  Agency.  A  ride  of 
a  few  miles  brought  us  to  the  ford  of  the  Verdigris,  a  wild 
rocky  scene  overhung  with  forest  trees.  We  descended  to  the 
bank  of  the  river  and  crossed  in  straggling  file,  the  horses 
stepping  cautiously  from  rock  to  rock,  and  in  a  manner  feeling 
about  for  a  foothold  beneath  the  rushing  and  brawling  stream. 

Our  little  Frenchman,  Tonish,  brought  up  the  rear  with  the 
pack-horses.  He  was  in  high  glee,  having  experienced  a  kind 
of  promotion.  In  our  journey  hitherto  he  had  driven  the 
wagon,  which  he  seemed  to  consider  a  very  inferior  employ; 
now  he  was  master  of  the  horse. 

He  sat  perched  like  a  monkey  behind  the  pack  on  one  of  the 
horses ;  he  sang,  he  shouted,  he  yelped  like  an  Indian,  and  ever 
and  anon  blasphemed  the  loitering  pack-horses  in  his  jargon  of 
mingled  French,  English,  and  Osage,  which  not  one  of  them 
could  understand. 

As  we  were  crossing  the  ford  we  saw  on  the  opposite  shore  a 
Creek  Indian  on  horseback.  He  had  paused  to  reconnoitre  ufli 


A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  13 

from  the  brow  of  a  rock,  and  formed  a  picturesque  object,  in 
unison  with  the  wild  scenery  around  him.  He  wore  a  bright 
blue  hunting-shirt  trimmed  with  scarlet  fringe;  a  gayly  col- 
ored handkerchief  was  bound  round  his  head  something  like  a 
turban,  with  one  end  hanging  down  beside  his  ear;  he  held  a 
long  rifle  in  his  hand,  and  looked  like  a  wild  Arab  on  tbe 
prowl.  Our  loquacious  and  ever-meddling  little  Frenchman 
called  out  to  him  in  his  Babylonish  jargon,  but  the  savage  hav- 
ing satisfied  his  curiosity  tossed  his  hand  in  the  air,  turned  the 
head  of  his  steed,  and  galloping  along  the  shore  soon  disap- 
peared among  the  trees. 


CHAPTER  LTL 

AN    INDIAN     AGENCY. — RIFLEMEN. — OS  AGES,    CREEKS,    TRAPPERS, 
DOGS,    HORSES,    HALF-BREEDS. — BEATTE,    THE  HUNTSMAN. 

HAVING  crossed  the  ford,  we  soon  reached  the  Osage  Agency, 
where  Col.  Choteau  has  his  offices  and  magazines,  for  the  de- 
spatch of  Indian  affairs,  and  the  distribution  of  presents  and 
supplies.  It  consisted  of  a  few  log  houses  on  the  banks  of  the 
river,  and  presented  a  motley  frontier  scene.  Here  was  our 
escort  awaiting  our  arrival;  some  were  on  horseback,  some  on 
foot,  some  seated  on  the  trunks  of  fallen  trees,  some  shooting 
at  a  mark.  They  were  a  heterogeneous  crew ;  some  in  frock- 
coats  made  of  green  blankets;  others  in  leathern  hunting- 
shirts,  but  the  most  part  in  marvellously  ill-cut  garments, 
much  the  worse  for  wear,  and  evidently  put  on  for  rugged  ser- 
vice. » 

Near  by  these  was  a  group  of  Osages :  stately  fellows ;  stem 
and  simple  in  garb  and  aspect.  They  wore  no  ornaments; 
their  dress  consisted  merely  of  blankets,  leggings,  and  mocca- 
sons.  Their  heads  were  bare ;  their  hair  was  cropped  close,  ex- 
cepting a  bristling  ridge  on  the  top,  like  the  crest  of  a  helmet, 
with  a  long  scalp-lock  hanging  behind.  They  had  fine  Roman 
countenances,  and  broad  deep  chests ;  and,  as  they  generally 
wore  their  blankets  wrapped  round  their  loins,  so  as  to  leave 
the  bust  and  arms  bare,  they  looked  like  so  many  noble  bronze 
figures.  The  Osages  are  the  finest  looking  Indians  I  have  ever 
seen  in  the  "West,  They  have  not  yielded  sufficiently,  as  yet,  to 


14  A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

the  influence  of  civilization  to  lay  by  their  simple  Indian  garb, 
or  to  lose  the  habits  of  the  hunter  and  the  warrior;  and  their 
poverty  prevents  their  indulging  in  much  luxury  of  apparel. 

In  contrast  to  these  was  a  gayly  dressed  party  of  Creeks. 
There  is  something,  at  the  first  glance,  quite  oriental  in  the 
appearance  of  this  tribe.  They  dress  in  calico  hunting  shirts, 
cf  various  brilliant  colors,  decorated  with  bright  fringes,  and 
belted  with  broad  girdles,  embroidered  with  beads ;  they  hav^ 
leggings  of  dressed  deer  skins,  or  of  green  or  scarlet  cloth,  wit> 
embroidered  knee-bands  and  tassels ;  their  moccasons  are  f aii 
cif  ully  wrought  and  ornamented,  and  they  wear  gaudy  hand- 
kerchiefs tastefully  bound  round  their  heads. 

Besides  these,  there  was  a  sprinkling  of  trappers,  hunters, 
Lalf -breeds,  Creoles,  negroes  of  every  hue;  and  all  that  other 
rabble  rout  of  nondescript  beings  that  keep  about  the  fron- 
tiers, between  civilized  and  savage  life,  as  those  equivocal 
birds,  the  bats,  hover  about  the  confines  of  light  and  darkness. 

The  little  hamlet  of  the  Agency  was  in  a  complete  bustle; 
the  blacksmith's  shed,  in  particular,  was  a  scene  of  prepara- 
tion; a  strapping  negro  was  shoeing  a  horse;  two  half-breeds 
were  fabricating  iron  spoons  in  which  to  melt  lead  for  bullets. 
An  old  trapper,  in  leathern  hunting  frock  and  moccasons,  had 
placed  his  rifle  against  a  work-bench,  while  he  superintended 
the  operation,  and  gossiped  about  his  hunting  exploits; 
several  large  dogs  were  lounging  in  and  out  of  the  shop,  or 
sleeping  in  the  sunshine,  while  a  little  CUT,  with  head  cocked 
on  one  side,  and  one  ear  erect,  was  watching,  with  that  curi- 
osity common  to  little  dogs,  the  process  of  shoeing  the  horse, 
as  if  studying  the  art,  or  waiting  for  his  turn  to  be  shod. 

Wo  found  the  Count  and  his  companion,  the  Virtuoso,  ready 
for  the  march.  As  they  intended  to  overtake  the  Osages,  and 
pass  some  time  in  hunting  the  buffalo  and  the  wild  horse,  they 
had  provided  themselves  accordingly;  having,  in  addition  to 
the  steeds  which  they  used  for  travelling,  others  of  prime 
quality,  which  were  to  be  led  when  on  the  march,  and  only  to 
be  mounted  for  the  chase. 

They  had,  moreover,  engaged  the  services  of  a  young  man 
named  Antoine,  a  half-breed  of  French  and  Osage  origin.  He 
was  to  be  a  kind  of  Jack-of-all-work ;  to  cook,  to  hunt,  and  to 
take  care  of  the  horses ;  but  he  had  a  vehement  propensity  to 
do  nothing,  being  one  of  the  worthless  brood  engendered  and 
brought  up  among  the  missions.  He  was,  moreover,  a  little 
spoiled  by  being  really  a  handsome  ^oung  fellow,  an  Adonis  of 


A  TOUR  ON  TEE  PRAIRIES.  15 

the  frontier,  and  still  worse  by  fancying  himself  highly  con- 
nected, his  sister  being  concubine  to  an  opulent  white  trader ! 

For  our  own  parts,  the  Commissioner  and  myself  were  de- 
sirous, before  setting  out,  to  procure  another  attendant  well 
versed  in  woodcraft,  who  might  serve  us  as  a  hunter ;  for  our 
little  Frenchman  would  have  his  hands  full  when  in  camp,  in 
cooking,  and  on  the  march,  in  taking  care  of  the  pack-horses. 
Such  an  one  presented  himself,  or  rather  was  recommended  to 
us,  in  Pierre  Beatte,  a  half-breed  of  French  and  Osage  paren- 
tage. We  were  assured  that  he  was  acquainted  with  all  parts 
of  the  country,  having  traversed  it  in  all  directions,  both 
in  hunting  and  war  parties ;  that  he  would  be  of  use  both  as 
guide  and  interpreter,  and  that  he  was  a  first-rate  hunter. 

I  confess  I  did  not  like  his  looks  when  he  was  first  presented 
to  me.  He  was  lounging  about,  in  an  old  hunting  frock  and 
metasses  or  leggings,  of  deer  skin,  soiled  and  greased,  and 
almost  japanned  by  constant  use.  He  was  apparently  about 
thirty-six  years  of  age,  square  and  strongly  built.  His  fea- 
tures were  not  bad,  being  shaped  not  unlike  those  of  Napo- 
leon, but  sharpened  up,  with  high  Indian  cheek-bones. 

Perhaps  the  dusky  greenish  hue  of  his  complexion,  aided  his 
resemblance  to  an  old  bronze  bust  I  had  seen  of  the  Emperor. 
He  had,  however,  a  sullen,  saturnine  expression,  set  off  by  a 
slouched  woollen  hat,  and  elf.  locks  that  hung  about  his  ears. 

Such  was  the  appearance  of  the  man,  and  his  manners  were 
equally  unprepossessing.  He  was  cold  and  laconic ;  made  no 
promises  or  professions ;  stated  the  terms  he  required  for  the 
services  of  himself  and  his  horse,  which  we  thought  rather 
high,  but  showed  no  disposition  to  abate  them,  nor  any 
anxiety  to  secure  our  employ.  He  had  altogether  more  of 
the  red  than  the  white  man  in  his  composition ;  and,  as  I  had 
been  taught  to  look  upon  all  half-breeds  with  distrust,  as  an 
uncertain  and  faithless  race,  I  would  gladly  have  dispensed 
with  the  services  of  Pierre  Beatte.  We  had  no  time,  however, 
to  look  out  for  any  one  more  to  our  taste,  and  had  to  make  an 
arrangement  with  him  on  the  spot.  He  then  set  about  making 
his  preparations  for  the  journey,  promising  to  join  us  at  our 
evening's  encampment. 

One  thing  was  yet  wanting  to  fit  me  out  for  the  Prairies — a 
thoroughly  trustworthy  steed :  I  was  not  yet  mounted  to  my 
mind.  The  gray  I  had  bought,  though  strong  and  serviceable, 
was  rough.  At  the  last  moment  I  succeeded  hi  getting  an 
excellent  animal;  a  dark  bays  powerful,  active,  generous- 


16  A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES, 

spirited,  and  in  capital  condition.  I  mounted  him  with  exul- 
tation, and  transferred  the  silver  gray  to  Tonish,  who  was  in 
such  ecstasies  at  finding  himself  so  completely  en  Cavalier, 
that  I  feared  he  might  realize  the  ancient  and  well-known  pro- 
verb of  "  a  beggar  on  horseback." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  DEPARTURE. 

THE  long-drawn  notes  of  a  bugle  at  length  gave  the  signal 
for  departure.  The  rangers  filed  off  in  a  straggling  line  of 
march  through  the  woods:  we  were  soon  on  horseback  and  fol- 
lowing on,  but  were  detained  by  the  irregularity  of  the  pack- 
horses.  They  were  unaccustomed  to  keep  the  line,  and  strag- 
gled from  side  to  side  among  the  thickets,  in  spite  of  all  the 
pesting  and  bedeviling  of  Tonish;  who,  mounted  on  his  gal- 
lant gray,  with  a  long  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  worried  after  them, 
bestowing  a  superabundance  of  dry  blows  and  curses. 

We  soon,  therefore,  lost  sight  of  our  escort,  but  managed  to 
keep  on  their  track,  thridding  lofty  forests,  and  entangled 
thickets,  and  passing  by  Indian  wigwams  and  negro  huts, 
until  toward  dusk  we  arrived  at  a  frontier  farm-house,  owned 
by  a  settler  of  the  name  of  Berryhill.  It  was  situated  on  a 
hill,  below  which  the  rangers  had  encamped  in  a  circular 
grove,  on  the  margin  of  a  stream.  The  master  of  the  house 
received  us  civilly,  but  could  offer  us  no  accommodation,  for 
sickness  prevailed  in  his  family.  He  appeared  himself  to  be 
in  no  very  thriving  condition,  for  though  bulky  in  frame,  he 
had  a  sallow,  unhealthy  complexion,  and  a  whiffling  double 
voice,  shifting  abruptly  from  a  treble  to  a  thorough-bass. 

Finding  his  log  house  was  a  mere  hospital,  crowded  with 
invalids,  we  ordered  our  tent  to  be  pitched  in  the  farm-yard. 

We  had  not  been  long  encamped,  when  our  recently  engaged 
attendant,  Beatte,  the  Osage  half-breed,  made  his  appearance. 
He  came  mounted  on  one  horse  and  leading  another,  which 
seemed  to  be  well  packed  with  supplies  for  the  expedition. 
Beatte  was  evidently  an  "  old  soldier,"  as  to  the  art  of  taking 
care  of  himself  and  looking  out  for  emergencies.  Finding  that 
he  was  in  government  employ*  being  engaged  by  the  Comrnifr 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  Yi 

sioner,  he  had  drawn  rations  of  flour  and  bacon,  and  put  them 
up  so  as  to  be  weather-proof.  In  addition  to  the  horse  for  the 
road,  and  for  ordinary  service,  which  was  a  rough,  hardy 
animal,  he  had  another  for  hunting.  This  was  of  a  mixed 
breed  like  himself,  being  a  cross  of  the  domestic  stock  with  the 
wild  horse  of  the  prairies ;  and  a  noble  steed  it  was,  of  generous 
spirit,  fine  action,  and  admirable  bottom.  He  had  taken  care 
to  have  his  horses  well  shod  at  the  Agency.  He  came  prepared 
at  all  points  for  war  or  hunting:  his  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  his 
powder-horn  and  bullet-pouch  at  his  side,  his  hunting-knife 
stuck  in  his  belt,  and  coils  of  cordage  at  his  saddle  bow,  which 
we  were  told  were  lariats,  or  noosed  cords,  used  in  catching  the 
wild  horse. 

Thus  equipped  and  provided,  an  Indian  hunter  on  a  prairie  is 
like  a  cruiser  on  the  ocean,  perfectly  independent  of  the  world, 
and  competent  to  self-protection  and  self -maintenance.  He 
can  cast  himself  loose  from  every  one,  shape  his  own  course, 
and  take  care  of  his  own  fortunes.  I  thought  Beatte  seemed  to 
feel  his  independence,  and  to  consider  himself  superior  to  us 
all,  now  that  we  were  launching  into  the  wilderness.  He 
maintained  a  half  proud,  half  sullen  look,  and  great  taciturnity, 
and  his  first  care  was  to  unpack  his  horses  and  put  them  in 
safe  quarters  for  the  night.  His  whole  demeanor  was  in  per- 
fect contrast  to  our  vaporing,  chattering,  bustling  little  French- 
man. The  latter,  too,  seemed  jealous  of  this  new-comer.  He 
whispered  to  us  that  these  half-breeds  were  a  touchy,  capri- 
cious people,  little  to  be  depended  upon.  That  Beatte  had 
evidently  come  prepared  to  take  care  of  himself,  and  that,  at 
any  moment  in  the  course  of  our  tour,  he  would  be  liable  to 
take  some  sudden  disgust  or  affront,  and  abandon  us  at  a 
moment's  warning:  having  the  means  of  shifting  for  himself, 
and  being  perfectly  at  home  on  the  prairies. 


CHAPTER  V. 

FRONTIER  SCENES.— A  LYODRGUS  OF  THE  BORDER.— LYNCH'S  LAW. 
— THE  DANGER  OF  FINDING  A  HORSE. — THE  YOUNG  OSAGE. 

ON  the  following  morning  (October  11),  we  were  on  the 
inarch  by  half-past  seven  o'clock,  and  rode  through  deep  rich 
bottoms  of  alluvial  soil,  overgrown  with  redundant  vegetation. 


18  A  TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES. 

and  trees  of  an  enormous  size.  Our  route  lay  parallel  to  the 
west  bank  of  the  Arkansas,  on  the  borders  of  which  river,  near 
the  confluence  of  the  Bed  Fork,  we  expected  to  overtake  the 
main  body  of  rangers.  For  some  miles  the  country  was 
sprinkled  with  Creek  villages  and  farm-houses ;  the  inhabitants 
of  which  appeared  to  have  adopted,  with  considerable  facility, 
the  rudiments  of  civilization,  and  to  have  thriven  in  con- 
sequence. Their  farms  were  well  stocked,  and  their  houses 
had  a  look  of  comfort  and  abundance. 

We  met  with  numbers  of  them  returning  from  one  of  their 
grand  games  of  ball,  for  which  their  nation  is  celebrated. 
Some  were  on  foot,  some  on  horseback;  the  latter,  occasion- 
ally, with  gayly  dressed  females  behind  them.  They  are  a 
well-made  race,  muscular  and  closely  knit,  with  well-turned 
thighs  and  legs.  They  have  a  gypsy  fondness  for  brilliant 
colors  and  gay  decorations,  and  are  bright  and  fanciful  objects 
when  seen  at  a  distance  on  the  prairies.  One  had  a  scarlet 
handkerchief  bound  round  his  head,  surmounted  with  a  tuft  of 
black  feathers  like  a  cocktail.  Another  had  a  white  handker- 
chief, with  red  feathers;  while  a  third,  for  want  of  a  plume, 
had  stuck  in  his  turban  a  brilliant  bunch  of  sumach. 

On  the  verge  of  the  wilderness  we  paused  to  inquire  our 
way  at  a  log  house,  owned  by  a  white  settler  or  squatter,  a 
tall  raw-boned  old  fellow,  with  red  hair,  a  lank  lantern  visage, 
and  an  inveterate  habit  of  winking  with  one  eye,  as  if  every- 
thing he  said  was  of  knowing  import.  He  was  in  a  towering 
passion.  One  of  his  horses  was  missing;  he  was  sure  it  had 
been  stolen  in  the  night  by  a  straggling  party  of  Osages 
encamped  in  a  neighboring  swamp ;  but  he  would  have  satis- 
faction !  He  would  make  an  example  of  the  villains.  He  had 
accordingly  caught  down  his  rifle  from  the  wall,  that  invariable 
enforcer  of  right  or  wrong  upon  the  frontiers,  and,  having 
saddled  his  steed,  was  about  to  sally  forth  on  a  foray  into  the 
swamp;  while  a  brother  squatter,  with  rifle  in  hand,  stood 
ready  to  accompany  him. 

We  endeavored  to  calm  the  old  campaigner  of  the  prairies, 
by  suggesting  that  his  horse  might  have  strayed  into  the 
neighboring  woods;  but  he  had  the  frontier  propensity  to 
charge  everything  to  the  Indians,  and  nothing  could  dissuade 
him  from  carrying  fire  and  sword  into  the  swamp. 

After  riding  a  few  miles  farther  we  lost  the  trail  of  the  main 
body  of  rangers,  and  became  perplexed  by  a  variety  of  tracks 
made  by  the  Indians  and  settlers.  At  length  coming  to  a  log 


A   TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES.  19 

house,  inhabited  by  a  white  man,  the  very  last  on  the  frontier, 
we  found  that  we  had  wandered  from  our  true  course.  Taking 
us  back  for  some  distance,  he  again  brought  us  to  the  right 
trail ;  putting  ourselves  upon  which,  we  took  our  final  depar- 
ture, and  launched  into  the  broad  wilderness. 

The  trail  kept  on  like  a  straggling  footpath,  over  hill  and 
dale,  through  brush  and  brake,  and  tangled  thicket,  and  open 
prairie.  In  traversing  the  wilds  it  is  customary  for  a  party 
either  of  horse  or  foot  to  follow  each  other  in  single  file  like  the 
Indians ;  so  that  the  leaders  break  the  way  for  those  who  fol- 
low, and  lessen  their  labor  and  fatigue.  In  this  way,  also,  the 
number  of  a  party  is  concealed,  the  whole  leaving  but  one 
narrow  well-trampled  track  to  mark  their  course. 

We  had  not  long  regained  the  trail,  when,  on  emerging  from 
a  forest,  we  beheld  our  raw-boned,  hard-winking,  hard-riding 
knight-errant  of  the  frontier,  descending  the  slope  of  a  hill, 
followed  by  his  companion  in  arms.  As  he  drew  near  to  us, 
the  gauntness  of  his  figure  and  ruefulness  of  his  aspect 
reminded  me  of  the  description  of  the  hero  of  La  Mancha,  and 
he  was  equally  bent  on  affairs  of  doughty  enterprise,  being 
about  to  penetrate  the  thickets  of  the  perilous  swamp,  within 
which  the  enemy  lay  ensconced. 

While  we  were  holding  a  parley  with  him  on  the  slope  of  the 
hill,  we  descried  an  Osage  on  horseback  issuing  out  of  a  skirt 
of  wood  about  half  a  mile  off,  and  leading  a  horse  by  a  halter. 
The  latter  was  immediately  recognized  by  our  hard-winking 
friend  as  the  steed  of  which  he  was  in  quest.  As  the  Osage 
drew  near,  I  was  struck  with  his  appearance.  He  was  about 
nineteen  or  twenty  years  of  age,  but  well  grown,  with  the  fine 
Roman  countenance  common  to  his  tribe,  and  as  he  rode  with 
his  blanket  wrapped  round  his  loins,  his  naked  bust  would 
have  furnished  a  model  for  a  statuary.  He  was  mounted  on  a 
beautiful  piebald  horse,  a  mottled  white  and  brown,  of  the 
wild  breed  of  the  prairies,  decorated  with  a  broad  collar,  from 
which  hung  in  front  a  tuft  of  horsehair  dyed  of  a  bright 
scarlet. 

The  youth  rode  slowly  up  to  us  with  a  frank  open  air,  and 
signified  by  means  of  our  interpreter  Beatte,  that  the  horse  he 
was  leading  had  wandered  to  their  camp,  and  he  was  now  on 
his  way  to  conduct  bim  back  to  his  owner. 

I  had  expected  to  witness  an  expression  of  gratitude  on  the 
part  of  our  hard- favored  cavalier,  but  to  my  surprise  the  old 
fellow  broke  out  into  a  furious  passion.  He  declared  that  the 


20  A   TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES. 

Indians  had  carried  off  his  horse  in  the  night,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  bringing  him  home  in  the  morning,  and  claiming  a 
reward  for  finding  him;  a  common  practice,  as  he  affirmed, 
among  the  Indians.  He  was,  therefore,  for  tying  the  young 
Indian  to  a  tree  and  giving  him  a  sound  lashing;  and  was  quite 
surprised  at  the  burst  of  indignation  which  this  novel  mode  of 
requiting  a  service  drew  from  us.  Such,  however,  is  too  often 
the  administration  of  law  on  the  frontier,  "  Lynch's  law,"  as  it 
is  technically  termed,  in  which  the  plaintiff  is  apt  to  be  witness, 
jury,  judge,  and  executioner,  and  the  defendant  to  be  convicted 
and  punished  on  mere  presumption;  and  in  this  way,  I  am 
convinced,  are  occasioned  many  of  those  heart-burnings  and 
resentments  among  the  Indians,  which  lead  to  retaliation,  and 
end  in  Indian  wars.  When  I  compared  the  open,  noble  coun- 
tenance and  frank  demeanor  of  the  young  Osage,  with  the  sinis- 
ter visage  and  high-handed  conduct  of  the  frontiersman,  I  felt 
little  doubt  on  whose  back  a  lash  would  be  most  meritoriously 
bestowed. 

Being  thus  obliged  to  content  himself  with  the  recovery  of 
his  horse,  without  the  pleasure  of  flogging  the  finder,  into  the 
bargain  the  old  Lycurgus,  or  rather  Draco,  of  the  frontier,  set 
off  growling  on  his  return  homeward,  followed  by  his  brother 
squatter. 

As  for  the  youthful  Osage,  we  were  all  prepossessed  in  his 
favor;  the  young  Count  especially,  with  the  sympathies 
proper  to  his  age  and  incident  to  his  character,  had  taken 
quite  a  fancy  to  him.  Nothing  would  suit  but  he  must  have 
the  young  Osage  as  a  companion  and  squire  in  his  expedition 
into  the  wilderness.  The  youth  was  easily  tempted,  and, 
with  the  prospect  of  a  safe  range  over  the  buffalo  prairies 
and  the  promise  of  a  new  blanket,  he  turned  his  bridle,  left 
the  swamp  and  the  encampment  of  his  friends  behind  him, 
and  set  off  to  follow  the  Count  in  his  wanderings  in  quest 
of  the  Osage  hunters. 

Such  is  the  glorious  independence  of  man  in  a  savage  state. 
This  youth,  with  his  rifle,  his  blanket,  and  his  horse,  was  ready 
at  a  moment's  warning  to  rove  the  world ;  he  carried  all  his 
worldly  effects  with  him,  and  in  the  absence  of  artificial  wants, 
possessed  the  great  secret  of  personal  freedom.  We  of  society 
are  slaves,  not  so  much  to  others  as  to  ourselves ;  our  super- 
fluities are  the  chains  that  bind  us,  impeding  every  movement 
of  our  bodies  and  thwarting  every  impulse  of  our  souls.  Such, 
at  least,  were  my  speculations  at  the  time,  though  I  am  uoi 


A   TOVR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES.  21 

sure  but  that  they  took  their  tone  from  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
young  Count,  who  seemed  more  enchanted  than  ever  with  the 
wild  chivalry  of  the  prairies,  and  talked  of  putting  on  the  In- 
dian dress  and  adopting  the  Indian  habits  during  the  time  he 
hoped  to  pass  with  the  Osages. 


CHAPTER  VL 

TRAIL  OF  THE  OSAQE  HUNTERS. — DEPARTURE  OP  THE  COUNT  AND 
HIS  PARTY. — A  DESERTED  WAR  CAMP. — A  VAGRANT  DOG. — THB 
ENCAMPMENT. 

IN  the  course  of  the  morning  the  trail  we  were  pursuing  was 
crossed  by  another,  which  struck  off  through  the  forest  to  the 
west  in  a  direct  course  for  the  Arkansas  River.  Beatte,  our 
half-breed,  after  considering  it  for  a  moment,  pronounced  it  the 
trail  of  the  Osage  hunters ;  and  that  it  must  lead  to  the  place 
where  they  had  forded  the  river  on  their  way  to  the  hunting 
grounds. 

Here  then  the  young  Count  and  his  companion  came  to  a  halt 
and  prepared  to  take  leave  of  us.  The  most  experienced  fron- 
tiersmen in  the  troop  remonstrated  on  the  hazard  of  the  under- 
taking. They  were  about  to  throw  themselves  loose  in  the 
wilderness,  with  no  other  guides,  guards,  or  attendants,  than 
a  young  ignorant  half-breed,  and  a  still  younger  Indian.  They 
were  embarrassed  by  a  pack-horse  and  two  led  horses,  with 
which  they  would  have  to  make  their  way  through  matted 
forests,  and  across  rivers  and  morasses.  The  Osages  and  Paw 
nees  were  at  war,  and  they  might  fall  in  with  some  warrior 
party  of  the  latter,  who  are  ferocious  foes ;  besides,  their  small 
number,  and  their  valuable  horses,  would  form  a  great  temp- 
tation to  some  of  the  straggling  bands  of  Osages  loitering 
about  the  frontier,  who  might  rob  them  of  their  horses  in 
the  night,  and  leave  them  destitute  and  on  foot  in  the  midst 
of  the  prairies. 

Nothing,  however,  could  restrain  the  romantic  ardor  of  the 
Count  for  a  campaign  of  buffalo  hunting  with  the  Osages,  and 
he  had  a  game  spirit  that  seemed  always  stimulated  by  the  idea 
of  danger.  His  travelling  companion,  of  discreeter  age  and 
calmer  temperament,  was  convinced  of  the  rashness  of  the 
enterprise ;  but  he  could  not  control  the  impetuous  zeal  of  his 


22  A  TOUR  OP  THE  PRAIRIES. 

youthful  friend,  and  he  was  too  loyal  to  leave  him  to  pursue  lua 
hazardous  scheme  alone.  To  our  great  regret,  therefore,  we 
saw  them  abandon  the  protection  of  our  escort,  and  strike  off 
on  their  hap-hazard  expedition.  The  old  hunters  of  our  party 
shook  their  heads,  and  our  half-breed,  Beatte,  predicted  all 
kinds  of  trouble  to  them ;  my  only  hope  was,  that  they  would 
soon  meet  with  perplexities  enough  to  cool  the  impetuosity  of 
the  young  Count,  and  induce  him  to  rejoin  us.  With  this  idea 
we  travelled  slowly,  and  made  a  considerable  halt  at  noon. 
After  resuming  our  march,  we  came  in  sight  of  the  Arkansas. 
It  presented  a  broad  and  rapid  stream,  bordered  by  a  beach  of 
fine  sand,  overgrown  with  willows  and  cottonwood-trees. 
Beyond  the  river,  the  eye  wandered  over  a  beautiful  champaign 
country,  of  flowery  plains  and  sloping  uplands,  diversified  by 
groves  and  clumps  of  trees,  and  long  screens  of  woodland ;  the 
whole  wearing  the  aspect  of  complete,  and  even  ornamental 
cultivation,  instead  of  native  wildness.  Not  far  from  the  river, 
on  an  open  eminence,  we  passed  through  the  recently  deserted 
camping  place  of  an  Osage  war  party.  The  frames  of  the  tents 
or  wigwams  remained,  consisting  of  poles  bent  into  an  arch, 
with  each  end  stuck  into  the  ground:  these  are  intertwined 
with  twigs  and  branches,  and  covered  with  bark  and  skins. 
Those  experienced  in  Indian  lore,  can  ascertain  the  tribe,  and 
whether  on  a  hunting  or  a  warlike  expedition,  by  the  shape 
and  disposition  of  the  wigwams.  Beatte  pointed  out  to  us,  in 
the  present  skeleton  camp,  the  wigwam  in  which  the  chiefs 
had  held  their  consultations  around  the  council-fire:  and  an 
open  area,  well  trampled  down,  on  which  the  grand  war-dance 
had  been  performed. 

Pursuing  our  journey,  as  we  were  passing  through  a  forest, 
we  were  met  by  a  forlorn,  half -famished  dog,  who  came  ram- 
bung  along  the  trail,  with  inflamed  eyes,  and  bewildered  look. 
Though  nearly  trampled  upon  by  the  foremost  rangers,  he 
took  notice  of  no  one,  but  rambled  heedlessly  among  the 
horses.  The  cry  of  "mad  dog"  was  immediately  raised,  and 
one  of  the  rangers  levelled  his  rifle,  but  was  stayed  by  the 
ever-ready  humanity  of  the  Commissioner.  "He  is  blind!" 
said  he.  "It  is  the  dog  of  some  poor  Indian,  following  his 
master  by  the  scent.  It  would  be  a  shame  to  kill  so  faithful 
an  animal."  The  ranger  shouldered  his  rifle,  the  dog  blun- 
dered blindly  through  the  cavalcade  unhurt,  and  keeping 
his  nose  to  the  ground,  continued  his  course  along  the  trail, 
affording  a  rare  instance  o£  a  dog  surviving  a  bad  name. 


A   TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES.  23 

About  three  o'clock,  we  came  to  a  recent  camping-place  of 
the  company  of  rangers :  the  brands  of  one  of  their  fires  were 
still  smoking;  so  that,  according  to  the  opinion  of  Beatte,  they 
could  not  have  passed  on  above  a  day  previously.  As  there 
was  a  fine  stream  of  water  close  by,  and  plenty  of  pea- vines 
for  the  horses,  we  encamped  here  for  the  night. 

We  had  not  been  here  long,  when  we  heard  a  halloo  from  a 
distance,  and  beheld  the  young  Count  and  his  party  advancing 
through  the  forest.  We  welcomed  them  to  the  camp  with 
heartfelt  satisfaction;  for  their  departure  upon  so  hazardous 
an  expedition  had  caused  us  great  uneasiness.  A  short  ex- 
periment had  convinced  them  of  the  toil  and  difficulty  of  in- 
experienced travellers  like  themselves  making  their  way 
through  the  wilderness  with  such  a  train  of  horses,  and  such 
slender  attendance.  Fortunately,  they  determined  to  rejoin 
us  before  night-fall ;  one  night's  camping  out  might  have  cost 
them  their  horses.  The  Count  had  prevailed  upon  his  protege 
and  esquire,  the  young  Osage,  to  continue  with  him,  and  still 
calculated  upon  achieving  great  exploits,  with  his  assistance, 
on  the  buffalo  prairies. 


CHAPTER  VH. 

JTEWS  OF  THE  RANGERS.— THE  COUNT  AND  HIS  INDIAN  SQUIRE.— 
HALT  IN  THE  WOODS. — WOODLAND  SCENE. — OSAGE  VILLAGE. — 
OSAGE  VISITORS  AT  OUR  EVENING  CAMP. 

IN  the  morning  early  (October  12th),  the  two  Creeks  who 
had  been  sent  express  by  the  commander  of  Fort  Gibson,  to 
stop  the  company  of  rangers,  arrived  at  our  encampment  on 
their  return.  They  had  left  the  company  encamped  about 
fifty  miles  distant,  in  a  fine  place  on  the  Arkansas,  abound- 
ing in  game,  where  they  intended  to  await  our  arrival.  This 
news  spread  animation  throughout  our  party,  and  we  set  out 
on  our  march  at  sunrise,  with  renewed  spirit. 

In  mounting  our  steeds,  the  young  Osage  attempted  to 
throw  a  blanket  upon  his  wild  horse.  The  fine,  sensible  ani- 
mal took  fright,  reared  and  recoiled.  The  attitudes  of  the 
wild  horse  and  the  almost  naked  savage,  would  have  formed 
studies  for  a  painter  or  a  statuary. 

I  often  pleased  myself  in  the  course  of  our  march,  with 


24  ^  TO  US  OF  THE  PRAIRIES. 

noticing  the  appearance  of  the  young  Count  and  his  newly 
enlisted  follower,  as  they  rode  before  me.  Never  was  preux 
chevalier  better  suited  with  an  esquire.  The  Count  was  well 
mounted,  and,  as  I  have  before  observed,  was  a  bold  and 
graceful  rider.  He  was  fond,  too,  of  caracoling  his  horse, 
and  dashing  about  in  the  buoyancy  of  youthful  spirits.  His 
dress  was  a  gay  Indian  hunting  frock  of  dressed  deer  skin,  set- 
ting well  to  the  shape,  dyed  of  a  beautiful  purple,  and  fanci- 
fully embroidered  with  silks  of  various  colors;  as  if  it  had 
been  the  work  of  some  Indian  beauty,  to  decorate  a  favorite 
chief.  With  this  he  wore  leathern  pantaloons  and  moccasons, 
a  foraging  cap,  and  a  double-barrelled  gun  slung  by  a  bando- 
leer athwart  his  back:  so  that  he  was  quite  a  picturesque 
figure  as  he  managed  gracefully  his  spirited  steed. 

The  young  Osage  would  ride  close  behind  him  on  his  wild  and 
beautifully  mottled  horse,  which  was  decorated  with  crimson 
tufts  of  hair.  He  rode  with  his  finely  shaped  head  and  bust 
naked ;  his  blanket  being  girt  round  his  waist.  He  carried  his 
rifle  in  one  hand,  and  managed  his  horse  with  the  other,  and 
seemed  ready  to  dash  off  at  a  moment's  warning,  with  his 
youthful  leader,  on  any  madcap  foray  or  scamper.  The  Count, 
with  the  sanguine  anticipations  of  youth,  promised  himself 
many  hardy  adventures  and  exploits  in  company  with  bis 
youthful  "brave,"  when  we  should  get  among  the  buffaloes, 
in  the  Pawnee  hunting  grounds. 

After  riding  some  distance,  we  crossed  a  narrow,  deep 
stream,  upon  a  solid  bridge,  the  remains  of  an  old  beaver  dam; 
the  industrious  community  which  had  constructed  it  had  all 
been  destroyed.  Above  us,  a  streaming  flight  of  wild  geese, 
high  in  the  air,  and  making  a  vociferous  noise,  gave  note  of 
the  waning  year. 

About  half  past  ten  o'clock  we  made  a  halt  in  a  forest,  where 
there  was  abundance  of  the  pea-vine.  Here  we  turned  the 
horses  loose  to  gaze.  A  fire  was  made,  water  procured  from 
an  adjacent  spring,  and  in  a  short  time  our  little  Frenchman, 
Tonish,  had  a  pot  of  coffee  prepared  for  our  refreshment. 
While  partaking  of  it,  we  were  joined  by  an  old  Osage,  one 
of  a  small  hunting  party  who  had  recently  passed  this  way. 
He  was  ua  search  of  his  horse,  which  had  wandered  away,  or 
been  stolen.  Our  half-breed,  Beatte,  made  a  wry  face  on  hear- 
ing of  Osage  hunters  in  this  direction.  "Until  we  pass  those 
hunters,"  said  he,  "we  shall  see  no  buffaloes.  They  frighten 
away  every  thing,  like  a  prairie  on  fire." 


A  TOUH  Of  THtt  PfrAmitiS.  25 

The  morning  repast  being  over,  the  party  amused  them- 
selves in  various  ways.  Some  shot  with  their  rifles  at  a  mark, 
others  lay  asleep  half  buried  in  the  deep  bed  of  foliage,  with 
their  heads  resting  on  their  saddles ;  others  gossiped  round  the 
fire  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  which  sent  up  wreaths  of  blue  smoke 
among  the  branches.  The  horses  banqueted  luxuriously  on 
the  pea-vines,  and  some  lay  down  and  rolled  amongst  them. 

We  were  overshadowed  by  lofty  trees,  with  straight,  smooth 
trunks,  like  stately  columns ;  and  as  the  glancing  rays  of  the 
sun  shone  through  the  transparent  leaves,  tinted  with  the 
many-colored  hues  of  autumn,  I  was  reminded  of  the  effect 
of  sunshine  among  the  stained  windows  and  clustering  col- 
umns of  a  Gothic  cathedral.  Indeed  there  is  a  grandeur  and 
solemnity  in  our  spacious  forests  of  the  West,  that  awaken  in 
me  the  same  feeling  I  have  experienced  in  those  vast  and 
venerable  piles,  and  the  sound  of  the  wind  sweeping  through 
them,  supplies  occasionally  the  deep  breathings  of  the  organ. 

About  noon  the  bugle  sounded  to  horse,  and  we  were  again 
on  the  march,  hoping  to  arrive  at  the  encampment  of  the 
rangers  before  night ;  as  the  old  Osage  had  assured  us  it  was 
not  above  ten  or  twelve  miles  distant.  In  our  course  through 
a  forest,  we  passed  by  a  lonely  pool,  covered  with  the  most 
magnificent  water-lilies  I  had  ever  beheld ;  among  which  swam 
several  wood-ducks,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  water-fowl, 
remarkable  for  the  gracefulness  and  brilliancy  of  its  plumage. 

After  proceeding  some  distance  farther,  we  came  down  upon 
the  banks  of  the  Arkansas,  at  a  place  where  tracks  of  numer- 
ous horses,  all  entering  the  water,  showed  where  a  party  of 
Osage  hunters  had  recently  crossed  the  river  on  their  way  to 
the  buffalo  range.  After  letting  our  horses  drink  in  the  river, 
we  continued  along  its  bank  for  a  space,  and  then  across 
prairies,  where  we  saw  a  distant  smoke,  which  we  hoped  might 
proceed  from  the  encampment  of  the  rangers.  Following 
what  we  supposed  to  be  their  trail,  we  came  to  a  meadow  in 
which  were  a  number  of  horses  grazing:  they  were  not,  how- 
ever, the  horses  of  the  troop.  A  little  farther  on,  we  reached  a 
straggling  Osage  village,  on  the  banks  of  the  Arkansas.  Our 
arrival  created  quite  a  sensation.  A  number  of  old  men  came 
forward  and  shook  hands  with  us  all  severally;  while  the 
women  and  children  huddled  together  in  groups,  staring  at  us 
wildly,  chattering  and  laughing  among  themselves.  We 
found  that  all  the  young  men  of  the  village  had  departed  on  a 
hunting  expedition,  leaving  the  women  and  children  and  old 


26  A  TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES. 

men  behind.  Here  the  Commissioner  made  a  speech  from  on 
horseback ;  informing  his  hearers  of  the  purport  of  his  mission, 
to  promote  a  general  peace  among  the  tribes  of  the  West,  and 
urging  them  to  lay  aside  all  warlike  and  bloodthirsty  notions, 
and  not  to  make  any  wanton  attacks  upon  the  Pawnees. 
This  speech  being  interpreted  by  Beatte,  seemed  to  have  a 
most  pacifying  effect  upon  the  multitude,  who  promised  faith- 
fully that,  as  far  as  in  them  lay,  the  peace  should  not  be 
disturbed ;  and  indeed  their  age  and  sex  gave  some  reason  to 
trust  that  they  would  keep  their  word. 

Still  hoping  to  reach  the  camp  of  the  rangers  before  night- 
fall, we  pushed  on  until  twilight,  when  we  were  obliged  to 
halt  on  the  borders  of  a  ravine.  The  rangers  bivouacked 
under  trees,  at  the  bottom  of  the  dell,  while  we  pitched 
our  tent  on  a  rocky  knoll  near  a  running  stream.  The  night 
came  on  dark  and  overcast,  with  flying  clouds,  and  much 
appearance  of  rain.  The  fires  of  the  rangers  burnt  brightly 
in  the  dell,  and  threw  strong  masses  of  light  upon  the  robber- 
looking  groups  that  were  cooking,  eating,  and  drinking  around 
them.  To  add  to  the  wildness  of  the  scene,  several  Osage 
Indians,  visitors  from  the  village  we  had  passed,  were  mingled 
among  the  men.  Three  of  them  came  and  seated  themselves 
by  our  fire.  They  watched  every  thing  that  was  going  on 
around  them  in  silence,  and  looked  like  figures  of  monumental 
bronze.  We  gave  them  food,  and,  what  they  most  relished, 
coffee ;  for  the  Indians  partake  in  the  universal  fondness  for 
this  beverage,  which  pervades  the  West.  When  they  had 
made  their  supper,  they  stretched  themselves,  side  by  side, 
before  the  fire,  and  began  a  low  nasal  chant,  drumming  with 
their  hands  upon  their  breasts,  by  way  of  accompaniment. 
Their  chant  seemed  to  consist  of  regular  staves,  every  one  ter- 
minating, not  in  a  melodious  cadence,  but  in  the  abrupt  in- 
terjection huh !  uttered  almost  like  a  hiccup.  This  chant,  we 
were  told  by  our  interpreter,  Beatte,  related  to  ourselves,  our 
appearance,  our  treatment  of  them,  and  all  that  they  knew  of 
our  plans.  In  one  part  they  spoke  of  the  young  Count,  whose 
animated  character  and  eagerness  for  Indian  enterprise  had 
struck  their  fancy,  and  they  indulged  in  some  waggery  about 
him  and  the  young  Indian  beauties,  that  produced  great  mer- 
riment among  our  half-breeds. 

This  mode  of  improvising  is  common  throughout  the  savage 
tribes;  and  in  this  way,  with  a  few  simple  inflections  of  the 
voice,  they  chant  all  their  exploits  in  war  and  hunting,  and 


A   TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES.  &f 

occasionally  indulge  in  a  vein  of  comic  humor  and  dry  satire, 
to  which  the  Indians  appear  to  me  much  more  prone  than  is 
generally  imagined. 

In  fact,  the  Indians  that  I  have  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
in  real  life  are  quite  different  from  those  described  in  poetry. 
They  are  by  no  means  the  stoics  that  they  are  represented; 
taciturn,  unbending,  without  a  tear  or  a  smile.  Taciturn  they 
are,  it  is  true,  when  in  company  with  white  men,  whose  good- 
will they  distrust,  and  whose  language  they  do  not  understand ; 
but  the  white  man  is  equally  taciturn  under  like  circumstances. 
When  the  Indians  are  among  themselves,  however,  there 
cannot  be  greater  gossips.  Half  their  time  is  taken  up  in 
talking  over  their  adventures  in  war  and  hunting,  and  in  tell- 
ing whimsical  stories.  They  are  great  mimics  and  buffoons, 
also,  and  entertain  themselves  excessively  at  the  expense  of 
the  whites  with  whom  they  have  associated,  and  who  have 
supposed  them  impressed  with  profound  respect  for  their 
grandeur  and  dignity.  They  are  curious  observers,  noting 
every  thing  in  silence,  but  with  a  keen  and  watchful  eye; 
occasionally  exchanging  a  glance  or  a  grunt  with  each  other, 
when  any  thing  particularly  strikes  them:  but  reserving  all 
comments  until  they  are  alone.  Then  it  is  that  they  give  full 
scope  to  criticism,  satire,  mimicry,  and  mirth. 

In  the  course  of  my  journey  along  the  frontier,  I  have  had 
repeated  opportunities  of  noticing  their  excitability  and  boister- 
ous merriment  at  their  games ;  and  have  occasionally  noticed 
a  group  of  Osages  sitting  round  a  fire  until  a  late  hour  of  the 
night,  engaged  in  the  most  animated  and  li vely  conversation ; 
and  at  times  making  the  woods  resound  with  peals  of  laughter. 
As  to  tears,  they  have  them  in  abundance,  both  real  and 
affected ;  at  times  they  make  a  merit  of  them.  No  one  weeps 
more  bitterly  or  profusely  at  the  death  of  a  relative  or  friend : 
and  they  have  stated  times  when  they  repair  to  howl  and 
lament  at  their  graves.  I  have  heard  doleful  wailings  at  day- 
break, in  the  neighboring  Indian  villages,  made  by  some  of  the 
inhabitants,  who  go  out  at  that  hour  into  the  fields,  to  mourn 
and  weep  for  the  dead :  at  such  times,  I  am  told,  the  tears  will 
stream  down  their  cheeks  in  torrents. 

As  far  as  I  can  judge,  the  Indian  of  poetical  fiction  is  like  the 
shepherd  of  pastoral  romance,  a  mere  personification  of  imagi- 
nary attributes. 

The  nasal  chant  of  our  Osage  guests  gradually  died  away; 
they  covered  their  headg  with  their  blankets  and  fell  fast 


28  A   TOUR  0V  THE  PRAIRIES. 

asleep,  and  in  a  little  while  all  was  silent,  except  the  pattering 
of  scattered  rain- drops  upon  our  tent. 

In  the  morning  our  Indian  visitors  breakfasted  with  us,  but 
the  young  Osage  who  was  to  act  as  esquire  to  the  Count  in  his 
knight-errantry  on  the  prairies,  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 
His  wild  horse,  too,  was  missing,  and,  after  many  conjectures, 
we  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  had  taken  "Indian  leave"  of 
us  in  the  night.  We  afterwards  ascertained  that  he  had  been 
persuaded  so  to  do  by  the  Osages  we  had  recently  met  with; 
who  had  represented  to  him  the  perils  that  would  attend  him 
in  an  expedition  to  the  Pawnee  hunting  grounds,  where  he 
might  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  implacable  enemies  of  his 
tribe;  and,  what  was  scarcely  less  to  be  apprehended,  the 
annoyances  to  which  he  would  be  subjected  from  the  capri- 
cious and  overbearing  conduct  of  the  white  men;  who,  as  I 
have  witnessed  in  my  own  short  experience,  are  prone  to  treat 
the  poor  Indians  as  little  better  than  brute  animals.  Indeed, 
he  had  had  a  specimen  of  it  himself  in  the  narrow  escape  he 
made  from  the  infliction  of  "Lynch's  law,"  by  the  hard- 
winking  worthy  of  the  frontier,  for  the  flagitious  crime  of 
finding  a  stray  horse. 

The  disappearance  of  the  youth  was  generally  regretted  by 
our  party,  for  we  had  all  taken  a  great  fancy  to  him  from  his 
handsome,  frank,  and  manly  appearance,  and  the  easy  grace 
of  his  deportment.  He  was  indeed  a  native-born  gentleman. 
By  none,  however,  was  he  so  much  lamented  as  by  the  young 
Count,  who  thus  suddenly  found  himself  deprived  of  his 
esquire.  I  regretted  the  departure  of  the  Osage  for  his  own 
sake,  for  we  should  have  cherished  him  throughout  the  expe- 
dition, and  I  am  convinced,  from  the  munificent  spirit  of  his 
patron,  he  would  have  returned  to  his  tribe  laden  with  wealth 
of  beads  and  trinkets  and  Indian  blankets. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    HONEY    CAMP. 


THE  weather,  which  had  been  rainy  in  the  night,  having 
held  up,  we  resumed  our  march  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, in  confident  hope  of  soon  arriving  at  the  encampment  of 
the  rangers.  We  had  not  ridden  above  three  or  four  miles 


A   TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES.  23 

when  we  came  to  a  large  tree  which  had  recently  been  felled 
by  an  axe,  for  the  wild  honey  contained  in  the  hollow  of  its 
trunk,  several  broken  flakes  of  which  still  remained.  Wo 
now  felt  sure  that  the  camp  could  not  be  far  distant.  About  a 
couple  of  miles  further  some  of  the  rangers  set  up  a  shout,  and 
pointed  to  a  number  of  horses  grazing  in  a  woody  bottom.  A 
few  paces  brought  us  to  the  brow  of  an  elevated  ridge,  whence 
we  looked  down  upon  the  encampment.  It  was  a  wild  bandit, 
or  Robin  Hood,  scene.  In  a  beautiful  open  forest,  traversed  by 
a  running  stream,  were  booths  of  bark  and  branches,  and  tents 
of  blankets,  temporary  shelters  from  the  recent  rain,  for  the 
rangers  commonly  bivouac  in  the  open  air.  There  were  groups 
of  rangers  in  every  kind  of  uncouth  garb.  Some  were  cooking 
at  large  fires  made  at  the  feet  of  trees ;  some  were  stretching 
and  dressing  deerskins;  some  were  shooting  at  a  mark,  and 
some  lying  about  on  the  grass.  Venison  jerked,  and  hung  on 
frames,  was  drying  over  the  embers  in  one  place ;  in  another 
lay  carcasses  recently  brought  in  by  the  hunters.  Stacks  of 
rifles  were  leaning  against  the  trunks  of  the  trees,  and  saddles, 
bridles,  and  powder-horns  hanging  above  them,  while  the  horses 
were  grazing  here  and  there  among  the  thickets. 

OUT  arrival  was  greeted  with  acclamation.  The  rangers 
crowded  about  their  comrades  to  inquire  the  news  from  the 
fort ;  for  our  own  part,  we  were  received  in  frank  simple  hun- 
ter's style  by  Captain  Bean,  the  commander  of  the  company ; 
a  man  about  forty  years  of  age,  vigorous  and  active.  His  life 
had  been  chiefly  passed  on  the  frontier,  occasionally  in  Indian 
warfare,  so  that  he  was  a  thorough  woodsman,  and  a  first-rate 
hunter.  He  was  equipped  in  character;  in  leathern  hunting 
shirt  and  leggings,  and  a  leathern  foraging  cap. 

While  we  were  conversing  with  the  Captain,  a  veteran 
huntsman  approached,  whose  whole  appearance  struck  me. 
He  was  of  the  middle  size,  but  tough  and  weather-proved ;  a 
head  partly  bald  and  garnished  with  loose  iron-gray  locks,  and 
a  fine  black  eye,  beaming  with  youthful  spirit.  His  dress  was 
similar  to  that  of  the  Captain,  a  rifle  shirt  and  leggings  of 
dressed  deer  skin,  that  had  evidently  seen  service ;  a  powder- 
horn  was  slung  by  his  side,  a  hunting-knife  stuck  in  his  belt, 
and  in  his  hand  was  an  ancient  and  trusty  rifle,  doubtless  as 
dear  to  him  as  a  bosom  friend.  He  asked  permission  to  go 
hunting,  which  was  readily  granted.  "That's  old  Ryan,"  said 
the  Captain,  when  he  had  gone ;  "there's  not  a  better  hunter  in 
the  camp;  he's  sure  to  bring  in  game." 


30  A  TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES. 

In  a  little  while  our  pack-horses  were  unloaded  and  turned 
loose  to  revel  among  the  pea- vines.  Our  tent  was  pitched;  our 
fire  made ;  the  half  of  a  deer  had  been  sent  to  us  from  the  Cap- 
tain's lodge ;  Beatte  brought  in  a  couple  of  wild  turkeys ;  the 
spits  were  laden,  and  the  camp-kettle  crammed  with  meat ;  and 
to  crown  our  luxuries,  a  basin  filled  with  great  flakes  of  deli- 
cious honey,  the  spoils  of  a  plundered  bee-tree,  was  given  us  by 
one  of  the  rangers. 

,  Our  little  Frenchman,  Tonish,  was  in  an  ecstasy,  and  tuck- 
ing up  his  sleeves  to  the  elbows,  set  to  work  to  make  a  display 
of  his  culinary  skill,  on  which  he  prided  himself  almost  as 
much  as  upon  his  hunting,  his  riding,  and  his  warlike  prowess. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  BEE  HUNT. 

THE  beautiful  forest  in  which  we  were  encamped  abounded  in 
bee-trees ;  that  is  to  say,  trees  in  the  decayed  trunks  of  which 
wild  bees  had  established  their  hives.  It  is  surprising  in  what 
countless  swarms  the  bees  have  overspread  the  Far  West,  within 
but  a  moderate  number  of  years.  The  Indians  consider  them  the 
harbinger  of  the  white  man,  as  the  buffalo  is  of  the  red  man; 
and  say  that,  in  proportion  as  the  bee  advances,  the  Indian 
and  buffalo  retire.  We  are  always  accustomed  to  associate 
the  hum  of  the  bee-hive  with  the  farmhouse  and  flower-garden, 
and  to  consider  those  industrious  little  animals  as  connected 
with  the  busy  haunts  of  man,  and  I  am  told  that  the  wild  bee 
is  seldom  to  be  met  with  at  any  great  distance  from  the  fron- 
tier. They  have  been  the  heralds  of  civilization,  steadfastly 
preceding  it  as  it  advanced  from  the  Atlantic  borders,  and 
some  of  the  ancient  settlers  of  the  West  pretend  to  give  the 
very  year  when  the  honey-bee  first  crossed  the  Mississippi. 
The  Indians  with  surprise  found  the  mouldering  trees  of  their 
forests  suddenly  teeming  with  ambrosial  sweets,  and  nothing, 
I  am  told,  can  exceed  the  greedy  relish  with  which  they  ban- 
quet for  the  first  time  upon  this  unbought  luxury  of  the  wilder- 


At  present  the  honey-bee  swarms  in  myriads,  in  the  noble 
groves  and  forests  which  skirt  and  intersect  the  prairies,  and 
extend  along  the  alluvial  bottoms  of  the  rivers,  It  seems  to 


A  TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES.  31 

me  as  if  these  beautiful  regions  answer  literally  to  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  land  of  promise,  "a  land  flowing  with  milk  and 
honey ;"  for  the  rich  pasturage  of  the  prairies  is  calculated  to 
sustain  herds  of  cattle  as  countless  as  the  sands  upon  the  sea- 
shore, while  the  flowers  with  which  they  are  enamelled  render 
them  a  very  paradise  for  the  nectar-seeking  bee. 

We  had  not  been  long  in  the  camp  when  a  party  set  out  in 
quest  of  a  bee-tree;  and,  being  curious  to  witness  the  sport,  I 
gladly  accepted  an  invitation  to  accompany  them.  The  party 
was  headed  by  a  veteran  bee-hunter,  a  tall  lank  fellow  in 
homespun  garb  that  hung  loosely  about  his  limbs,  and  a  straw 
hat  shaped  not  unlike  a  bee-hive;  a  comrade,  equally  uncouth 
in  garb,  and  without  a  hat,  straddled  along  at  .his  heels,  with  a 
long  rifle  on  his  shoulder.  To  these  succeeded  half  a  dozen 
others,  some  with  axes  and  some  with  rifles,  for  no  one  stirs 
far  from  the  camp  without  his  firearms,  so  as  to  be  ready 
either  for  wild  deer  or  wild  Indian. 

After  proceeding  some  distance  we  came  to  an  open  glade 
on  the  skirts  of  the  forest.  Here  our  leader  halted,  and  then 
advanced  quietly  to  a  low  bush,  on  the  top  of  which  I  per- 
ceived a  piece  of  honey-comb.  This  I  found  was  the  bait  or 
lure  for  the  wild  bees.  Several  were  humming  about  it,  and 
diving  into  its  cells.  When  they  had  laden  themselves  with 
honey,  they  would  rise  into  the  air,  and  dart  off  in  a  straight 
line,  almost  with  the  velocity  of  a  bullet.  The  hunters 
watched  attentively  the  course  they  took,  and  then  set  off  in 
the  same  direction,  stumbling  along  over  twisted  roots  and 
fallen  trees,  with  their  eyes  turned  up  to  the  sky.  In  this  way 
they  traced  the  honey-laden  bees  to  their  hive,  in  the  hollow 
trunk  of  a  blasted  oak,  where,  after  buzzing  about  for  a  mo- 
ment, they  entered  a  hole  about  sixty  feet  from  the  ground. 

Two  of  the  bee-hunters  now  plied  their  axes  vigorously  at 
the  foot  of  the  tree  to  level  it  with  the  ground.  The  mere 
spectators  and  amateurs,  in  the  meantime,  drew  off  to  a 
cautious  distance,  to  Tbe  out  of  the  way  of  the  falling  of  the 
tree  and  the  vengeance  of  its  inmates.  The  jarring  blows  of 
the  axe  seemed  to  have  no  effect  in  alarming  or  disturbing  this 
most  industrious  community.  They  continued  to  ply  at  their 
usual  occupations,  some  arriving  full  freighted  into  port, 
others  sallying  forth  on  new  expeditions,  like  so  many  mer- 
chantmen in  a  money-making  metropolis,  little  suspicious  of 
impending  bankruptcy  and  downfall.  Even  a  loud  crack 
which  announced  the  disrupture  of  the  trunk,  failed  to  divert 


32  A   TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES. 

their  attention  from  the  intense  pursuit  of  gain;  at  length 
down  came  the  tree  with  a  tremendous  crash,  bursting  open 
from  end  to  end,  and  displaying  all  the  hoarded  treasures  of 
the  commonwealth. 

One  of  the  hunters  immediately  ran  up  with  a  wisp  of 
lighted  hay  as  a  defence  against  the  bees.  The  latter,  how- 
ever, made  no  attack  and  sought  no  revenge;  they  seemed 
stupefied  by  the  catastrophe  and  unsuspicious  of  its  cause,  and 
remained  crawling  and  buzzing  about  the  ruins  without  offer- 
ing us  any  molestation.  Every  one  of  the  party  now  fell  to, 
with  spoon  and  hunting-knife,  to  scoop  out  the  flakes  of 
honey-comb  with  which  the  hollow  trunk  was  stored.  Some 
of  them  were  of  old  date  and  a  deep  brown  color,  others  were 
beautifully  white,  and  the  honey  in  their  cells  was  almost 
limpid.  Such  of  the  combs  as  were  entire  were  placed  in 
camp  kettles  to  be  conveyed  to  the  encampment ;  those  which 
had  been  shivered  in  the  fall  were  devoured  upon  the  spot. 
Every  stark  bee-hunter  was  to  be  seen  with  a  rich  morsel  in 
his  hand,  dripping  about  his  fingers,  and  disappearing  as 
rapidly  as  a  cream  tart  before  the  holiday  appetite  of  a  school- 
boy. 

Nor  was  it  the  bee-hunters  alone  that  profited  by  the  down- 
fall of  this  industrious  community ;  as  if  the  bees  would  carry 
through  the  similitude  of  their  habits  with  those  of  laborious 
and  gainful  man,  I  beheld  numbers  from  rival  hives,  arriving 
on  eager  wing,  to  enrich  themselves  with  the  ruins  of  their 
neighbors.  These  busied  themselves  as  eagerly  and  cheerfully 
as  so  many  wreckers  on  an  Indiaman  that  has  been  driven  on 
shore ;  plunging  into  the  cells  of  the  broken  honey-combs,  ban- 
queting greedily  on  the  spoil,  and  then  winging  their  way 
full-freighted  to  their  homes.  As  to  the  poor  proprietors  of 
the  ruin,  they  seemed  to  have  no  heart  to  do  any  thing,  not 
even  to  taste  the  nectar  that  flowed  around  them ;  but  crawled 
backward  and  forward,  in  vacant  desolation,  as  I  have  seen  a 
poor  fellow  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  whistling  vacantly 
and  despondingly  about  the  ruins  of  his  house  that  had  been 
burnt. 

It  is  difficult  to  describe  the  bewilderment  and  confusion  of 
the  bees  of  the  bankrupt  hive  who  had  been  absent  at  the  time 
of  the  catastrophe,  and  who  arrived  from  time  to  time,  with 
full  cargoes  from  abroad.  At  first  they  wheeled  about  in 
the  air,  in  the  place  where  the  fallen  tree  had  once  reared  its 
liead,  astonished  at  finding  it  all  a  vacuum.  At  length,  as  if 


A   TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES.  33 

comprehending  their  disaster,  they  settled  down  in  clusters  on 
a  dry  branch  of  a  neighboring  tree,  whence  they  seemed  to 
contemplate  the  prostrate  ruin,  and  to  buzz  forth  doleful 
lamentations  over  the  downfall  of  their  republic.  It  was  a 
scene  on  which  the  "  melancholy  Jacques"  might  have  moral- 
ized by  the  hour. 

We  now  abandoned  the  place,  leaving  much  honey  in  the 
hollow  of  the  tree.  "It  will  all  be  cleared  off  by  varmint," 
said  one  of  the  rangers.  "What  vermin?"  asked  I.  "Oh, 
bears,  and  skunks,  and  racoons,  and  'possums.  The  bears  is 
the  knowingest  varmint  for  finding  out  a  bee-tree  in  the  world. 
They'll  gnaw  for  days  together  at  the  trunk  till  they  make  a 
hole  big  enough  to  get  in  their  paws,  and  then  they'll  haul  out 
honey,  bees  and  all." 


CHAPTER  X. 

AMUSEMENTS  IN  THE  CAMP.— CONSULTATIONS.— HUNTERS*  PARE 
AND  FEASTING.— EVENING  SCENES.— CAMP  MELODY.— THE  FATE 
OF  AN  AMATEUR  OWL. 

ON  returning  to  the  camp,  we  found  it  a  scene  of  the  great- 
est hilarity.  Some  of  the  rangers  were  shooting  at  a  mark, 
others  were  leaping,  wrestling,  and  playing  at  prison  bars. 
They  were  mostly  young  men,  on  their  first  expedition,  in 
high  health  and  vigor,  and  buoyant  with  anticipations ;  and  I 
can  conceive  nothing  more  likely  to  set  the  youthful  blood 
into  a  flow,  than  a  wild  wood  life  of  the  kind,  and  the  range  of 
a  magnificent  wilderness,  abounding  with  game,  and  fruitful 
of  adventure.  We  send  our  youth  abroad  to  grow  luxurious 
and  effeminate  in  Europe;  it  appears  to  me,  that  a  previous 
tour  on  the  prairies  would  be  more  likely  to  produce  that 
manliness,  simplicity,  and  self-dependence,  most  in  unison 
with  our  political  institutions. 

While  the  young  men  were  engaged  in  these  boisterous 
amusements,  a  graver  set,  composed  of  the  Captain,  the 
Doctor,  and  other  sages  and  leaders  of  the  camp,  were  seated 
or  stretched  out  on  the  grass,  round  a  frontier  map,  holding 
a  consultation  about  our  position,  and  the  course  we  were  to 
pursue. 

Our  plan  was  to  cross  the  Arkansas  just  above  where  the 
Bed  Fork  falls  into  it,  then  to  keep  westerly,  until  we  should 


34  A   TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES. 

pass  through  a  grand  belt  of  open  forest,  called  the  Cross 
Timber,  which  ranges  nearly  north  and  south  from  the 
Arkansas  to  Red  Eiver;  after  which,  we  were  to  keep  a 
southerly  course  toward  the  latter  river. 

Our  half-breed,  Beatte,  being  an  experienced  Osage  hunter, 
was  called  into  the  consultation.  "Have  you  ever  hunted  in 
this  direction?"  said  the  Captain.  "Yes,"  was  the  laconic 
reply. 

"Perhaps,  then,  you  can  tell  us  in  which  direction  lies  the 
Red  Fork  ?" 

"If  you  keep  along  yonder,  by  the  edge  of  the  prairie,  you 
will  come  to  a  bald  hill,  with  a  pile  of  stones  upon  it." 

"I have  noticed  that  hill  as  I  was  hunting,"  said  the  Cap- 
tain. 

"Well!  those  stones  were  setup  by  the  Osages  as  a  land- 
mark: from  that  spot  you  may  have  a  sight  of  the  Red 
Fork." 

"In  that  case,"  cried  the  Captain,  "we  shall  reach  the  Red 
Fork  to-morrow;  then  cross  the  Arkansas  above  it,  into  the 
Pawnee  country,  and  then  in  two  days  we  shall  crack  buffalo 
bones!" 

The  idea  of  arriving  at  the  adventurous  hunting  grounds  of 
the  Pawnees,  and  of  coming  upon  the  traces  of  the  buffaloes, 
made  every  eye  sparkle  with  animation.  Our  further  con- 
versation was  interrupted  by  the  sharp  report  of  a  rifle  at  no 
great  distance  from  the  camp. 

"That's  old  Ryan's  rifle,"  exclaimed  the  Captain;  "there's 
a  buck  down,  I'll  warrant!"  Nor  was  he  mistaken;  for,  before 
long,  the  veteran  made  his  appearance,  calling  upon  one  of  the 
younger  rangers  to  return  with  him,  and  aid  in  bringing  home 
the  carcass. 

The  surrounding  country,  in  fact,  abounded  with  game,  so 
that  the  camp  was  overstocked  with  provisions,  and,  as  no  less 
than  twenty  bee-trees  had  been  cut  down  in  the  vicinity,  every 
one  revelled  in  luxury.  With  the  wasteful  prodigality  of  hun- 
ters, there  was  a  continual  feasting,  and  scarce  any  one  put  by 
provision  for  the  morrow.  The  cooking  was  conducted  in 
hunter's  style:  the  meat  was  stuck  upon  tapering  spits  of 
dogwood,  which  were  thrust  perpendicularly  into  the  ground, 
so  as  to  sustain  the  joint  bet  ore  the  fire,  where  it  was  roasted 
or  broilsd  with  all  its  juices  retained  in  it  in  a  manner  that 
would  have  tickled  the  palate  of  the  most  experienced  gour- 
mand. As  much  could  not  be  said  TO  favor  of  the  bread,  It 


A   TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES.  35 

was  little  more  than  a  paste  made  of  flour  and  water,  and  fried 
like  fritters,  in  lard ;  though  some  adopted  a  ruder  style,  twist- 
ing it  round  the  ends  of  sticks,  and  thus  roasting  it  before  the 
fire.  In  either  way,  I  have  found  it  extremely  palatable  on 
the  prairies.  No  one  knows  the  true  relish  of  food  until  he  has 
a  hunter's  appetite. 

Before  sunset,  we  were  summoned  by  little  Tonish  to  a 
sumptuous  repast.  Blankets  had  been  spread  on  the  ground 
near  to  the  fire,  upon  which  we  took  our  seats.  A  large  dish, 
or  bowl,  made  from  the  root  of  a  maple  tree,  and  which  we 
had  purchased  at  the  Indian  village,  was  placed  on  the  ground 
before  us,  and  into  it  were  emptied  the  contents  of  one  of  the 
camp  kettles,  consisting  of  a  wild  turkey  hashed,  together  with 
slices  of  bacon  and  lumps  of  dough.  Beside  it  was  placed 
another  bowl  of  similar  ware,  containing  an  ample  supply  of 
fritters.  After  we  had  discussed  the  hash,  two  wooden  spits, 
on  which  the  ribs  of  a  fat  buck  were  broiling  before  the  fire, 
were  removed  and  planted  in  the  ground  before  us,  with  a 
triumphant  air,  by  little  Tonish.  Having  no  dishes,  we  had  to 
proceed  in  hunter's  style,  cutting  off  strips  and  slices  with  our 
hunting-knives,  and  dipping  them  in  salt  and  pepper.  To  do 
justice  to  Tonish's  cookery,  however,  and  to  the  keen  sauce  of 
the  prairies,  never  have  I  tasted  venison  so  delicious.  With 
all  this,  our  beverage  was  coffee,  boiled  in  a  camp  kettle, 
sweetened  with  brown  sugar,  and  drunk  out  of  tin  cups :  and 
such  was  the  style  of  our  banqueting  throughout  this  expedi- 
tion, whenever  provisions  were  plenty,  and  as  long  as  flour 
and  coffee  and  sugar  held  out. 

As  the  twilight  thickened  into  night,  the  sentinels  were 
marched  forth  to  their  stations  around  the  camp;  an  indis- 
pensable precaution  in  a  country  infested  by  Indians.  The 
encampment  now  presented  a  picturesque  appearance.  Camp 
fires  were  blazing  and  smouldering  here  and  there  among  the 
trees,  with  groups  of  rangers  round  them;  some  seated  or 
lying  on  the  ground,  others  standing  in  the  ruddy  glare  of  the 
flames,  or  in  shadowy  relief.  At  some  of  the  fires  there  was 
much  boisterous  mirth,  where  peals  of  laughter  were  mingled 
with  loud  ribald  jokes  and  uncouth  exclamations;  for  the 
troop  was  evidently  a  raw,  undisciplined  band,  levied  among 
the  wild  youngsters  of  the  frontier,  who  had  enlisted,  some  for 
the  sake  of  roving  adventure,  and  some  for  the  purpose  of 
getting  a  knowledge  of  the  country.  Many  of  them  were  the 
neighbors  of  their  officers,  and  accustomed  to  regard  them 


36  A   TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES. 

with  the  familiarity  of  equals  and  companions.  None  of  them 
had  any  idea  of  the  restraint  and  decorum  of  a  camp,  or 
ambition  to  acquire  a  name  for  exactness  in  a  profession  in 
which  they  had  no  intention  of  continuing. 

While  this  boisterous  merriment  prevailed  at  some  of  the 
fires,  there  suddenly  rose  a  strain  of  nasal  melody  from 
another,  at  which  a  choir  of  "vocalists"  were  uniting  their 
voices  in  a  most  lugubrious  psalm  tune.  This  was  led  by  one 
of  the  lieutenants;  a  tall,  spare  man,  who  we  were  informed 
had  officiated  as  schoolmaster,  singing-master,  and  occasionally 
as  Methodist  preacher,  in  one  of  the  villages  of  the  frontier. 
The  chant  rose  solemnly  and  sadly  in  the  night  air,  and 
reminded  me  of  the  description  of  similar  canticles  in  the 
camps  of  the  Covenanters;  and,  indeed,  the  strange  medley  of 
figures  and  faces  and  uncouth  garbs,  congregated  together  in 
our  troop,  would  not  have  disgraced  the  banners  of  Praise-God 
Barebones. 

In  one  of  the  intervals  of  this  nasal  psalmody,  an  amateur 
owl,  as  if  in  competition,  began  his  dreary  hooting.  Immedi- 
ately there  was  a  cry  throughout  the  camp  of  "Charley's  owl! 
Charley's  owl !"  It  seems  this  "obscure  bird "  had  visited  the 
camp  every  night,  and  had  been  fired  at  by  one  of  the  senti- 
nels, a  half-witted  lad,  named  Charley;  who,  on  being  caDed 
up  for  firing  when  on  duty,  excused  himself  by  saying,  that  he 
understood  owls  made  uncommonly  good  soup. 

One  of  the  young  rangers  mimicked  the  cry  of  this  bird  of 
wisdom,  who,  with  a  simplicity  little  consonant  with  his 
character,  came  hovering  within  sight,  and  alighted  on  the 
naked  branch  of  a  tree,  lit  up  by  the  blaze  of  our  fire.  The 
young  Count  immediately  seized  his  fowling-piece,  took  fatal 
aim,  and  in  a  twinkling  the  poor  bird  of  ill  omen  came  flutter- 
ing to  the  ground.  Charley  was  now  called  upon  to  make  and 
eat  his  dish  of  owl-soup,  but  declined,  as  he  had  not  shot  the 
bird. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  I  paid  a  visit  to  the  Captain's 
fire.  It  was  composed  of  huge  trunks  of  trees,  and  of  suffi- 
cient magnitude  to  roast  a  buffalo  whole.  Here  were  a  num- 
ber of  the  prime  hunters  and  leaders  of  the  camp,  some  sitting, 
some  standing,  and  others  lying  on  skins  or  blankets  before 
the  fire,  telling  old  frontier  stories  about  hunting  and  Indian 
warfare. 

As  the  night  advanced,  we  perceived  above  the  trees  to  the 
west,  a  ruddy  glow  flushing  up  the  sky. 


A    TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES.  3? 

"  That  must  be  a  prairie  set  on  fire  by  the  Osage  hunters," 
said  the  Captain. 

"It  is  at  the  Red  Fork,"  said  Beatte,  regarding  the  sky. 
u  It  seems  but  three  miles  distant,  yet  it  perhaps  is  twenty." 

About  half  past  eight  o'clock,  a  beautiful  pale  light  gradu- 
ally sprang  up  in  the  east,  a  precursor  of  the  rising  moon. 
Drawing  off  from  the  Captain's  lodge,  I  now  prepared  for  the 
night's  repose.  I  had  determined  to  abandon  the  shelter  of 
the  tent,  and  henceforth  to  bivouac  like  the  rangers.  A  bear- 
skin spread  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  was  my  bed,  with  a  pair  of 
saddle-bags  for  a  pillow.  Wrapping  myself  in  blankets,  I 
stretched  myself  on  this  hunter's  couch,  and  soon  fell  into  a 
sound  and  sweet  sleep,  from  which  I  did  not  awake  until  the 
bugle  sounded  at  daybreak. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

BREAKING  UP  OF  THE  ENCAMPMENT. —PICTURESQUE  MARCH.— 
GAME.— CAMP  SCENES.— TRIUMPH  OF  A  YOUNG  HUNTER.— ILL 
SUCCESS  OF  AN  OLD  HUNTER. — FOUL  MURDER  OF  A  POLECAT. 

OCTOBER  14TH. — At  the  signal  note  of  the  bugle,  the  sentinels 
and  patrols  marched  in  from  their  stations  around  the  camp 
and  were  dismissed.  The  rangers  were  roused  from  their 
night's  repose,  and  soon  a  bustling  scene  took  place.  While 
some  cut  wood,  made  fires,  and  prepared  the  morning's  meal, 
others  struck  their  foul-weather  shelters  of  blankets,  and 
made  every  preparation  for  departure;  while  others  dashed 
about,  through  brush  and  brake,  catching  the  horses  and  lead- 
ing or  driving  them  into  camp. 

During  all  this  bustle  the  forest  rang  with  whoops,  and 
shouts,  and  peals  of  laughter;  when  all  had  breakfasted, 
packed  up  their  effects  and  camp  equipage,  and  loaded  the 
pack-horses,  the  bugle  sounded  to  saddle  and  mount.  By 
eight  o'clock  the  whole  troop  set  off  in  a  long  straggling  line, 
with  whoop  and  halloo,  intermingled  with  many  an  oath  at 
the  loitering  pack-horses,  and  in  a  little  while  the  forest,  which 
for  several  days  had  been  the  scene  of  such  unwonted  bustle 
and  uproar,  relapsed  into  its  primeval  solitude  and  silence. 

It  was  a  bright  sunny  morning,  with  a  pure  transparent 
atmosphere  that  seemed  to  bathe  the  very  heart  with  glad- 


38  A  TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES. 


Our  march  continued  parallel  to  the  Arkansas,  through 
a  rich  and  varied  country;  sometimes  we  had  to  break  our 
way  through  alluvial  bottoms  matted  with  redundant  vegeta- 
tion, where  the  gigantic  trees  were  entangled  with  grap-vines, 
hanging  like  cordage  from  their  branches;  sometimes  we 
coasted  along  sluggish  brooks,  whose  feebly  trickling  current 
just  served  to  link  together  a  succession  of  glassy  pools,  im- 
bedded like  mirrors  in  the  quiet  bosom  of  the  forest,  reflecting 
its  autumnal  foliage,  and  patches  of  the  clear  blue  sky.  Some- 
times we  scrambled  up  broken  and  rocky  hills,  from  the  sum- 
mits of  which  we  had  wide  views  stretching  on  one  side  over 
distant  prairies  diversified  by  groves  and  forests,  and  on  the 
other  ranging  along  a  line  of  blue  and  shadowy  hills  beyond 
the  waters  of  the  Arkansas. 

The  appearance  of  our  troop  was  suited  to  the  country; 
stretching  along  in  a  line  of  upward  of  half  a  mile  in  length, 
winding  among  brakes  and  bushes,  and  up  and  down  in  the 
defiles  of  the  hills,  the  men  in  every  kind  of  uncouth  garb, 
with  long  rifles  on  their  shoulders,  and  mounted  on  horses  of 
every  color.  The  pack-horses,  too,  would  incessantly  wander 
from  the  line  of  march,  to  crop  the  surrounding  herbage,  and 
were  banged  and  beaten  back  by  Tonish  and  his  half-breed 
compeers,  with  volleys  of  mongrel  oaths.  Every  now  and 
then  the  notes  of  the  bugle,  from  the  head  of  the  column, 
would  echo  through  the  woodlands  and  along  the  hollow  glens, 
summoning  up  stragglers,  and  announcing  the  line  of  march. 
The  whole  scene  reminded  me  of  the  description  given  of  bands 
of  buccaneers  penetrating  the  wilds  of  South  America,  on  their 
plundering  expeditions  against  the  Spanish  settlements. 

At  one  time  we  passed  through  a  luxuriant  bottom  or  mea- 
dow bordered  by  thickets,  where  the  tall  grass  was  pressed 
down  into  numerous  "deer  beds,"  where  those  animals  had 
couched  the  preceding  night.  Some  oak  trees  also  bore  signs 
of  having  been  clambered  by  bears,  in  quest  of  acorns,  the 
marks  of  their  claws  being  visible  in  the  bark. 

As  we  opened  a  glade  of  this  sheltered  meadow  we  beheld 
several  deer  bounding  away  in  wild  affright,  until,  having 
gained  some  distance,  they  would  stop  and  gaze  back,  with 
the  curiosity  common  to  this  animal,  at  the  strange  intruders 
into  their  solitudes.  There  was  immediately  a  sharp  report 
of  rifles  in  every  direction,  from  the  young  huntsmen  of  the 
troop,  but  they  were  too  eager  to  aim  surely,  and  the  deer,  un- 
hwmed,  bounded  away  into  the  depths  of  the  forest. 


A   TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES.  39 

In  the  course  of  our  march  we  struck  the  Arkansas,  but 
found  ourselves  still  below  the  Red  Fork,  and,  as  the  river 
made  deep  bends,  we  again  left  its  banks  and  continued 
through  the  woods  until  nearly  eight  o'clock,  when  we  en- 
camped in  a  beautiful  basin  bordered  by  a  fine  stream,  and 
shaded  by  clumps  of  lofty  oaks. 

Tho  horses  were  now  hobbled,  that  is  to  say,  their  fore  legs 
were  fettered  with  cords  or  leathern  straps,  so  as  to  impede 
their  movements,  and  prevent  their  wandering  from  the  camp. 
They  were  then  turned  loose  to  graze.  A  number  of  rangers, 
prime  hunters,  started  off  in  different  directions  in  search  of 
game.  There  was  no  whooping  nor  laughing  about  the  camp 
as  in  the  morning ;  all  were  either  busy  about  the  fires  pre- 
paring the  evening's  repast,  or  reposing  upon  the  grass.  Shots 
were  soon  heard  in  various  directions.  After  a  time  a  hunts- 
man rode  into  the  camp  with  the  carcass  of  a  fine  buck  hang- 
ing across  his  horse.  Shortly  afterward  came  in  a  couple  of 
stripling  hunters  on  foot,  one  of  whom  bore  on  his  shoulders 
the  body  of  a  doe.  He  was  evidently  proud  of  his  spoil,  being 
probably  one  of  his  first  achievements,  though  he  and  his  com- 
panion were  much  bantered  by  their  comrades,  as  young  be- 
ginners who  hunted  in  partnership. 

Just  as  the  night  set  in,  there  was  a  great  shouting  at  one 
end  of  the  camp,  and  immediately  afterward  a  body  of  young 
rangers  came  parading  round  the  various  fires,  bearing  one 
of  their  comrades  in  triumph  on  their  shoulders.  He  had  shot 
an  elk  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  and  it  was  the  first  animal 
of  the  kind  that  had  been  killed  on  this  expedition.  The  young 
huntsman,  whose  name  was  M'Lellan,  was  the  hero  of  the 
camp  for  the  night,  and  was  the  "father  of  the  feast"  into 
the  bargain;  for  portions  of  his  elk  were  seen  roasting  at  every 
fire. 

The  other  hunters  returned  without  success.  The  Captain 
had  observed  the  tracks  of  a  buffalo,  which  must  have  passed 
within  a  few  days,  and  had  tracked  a  bear  for  some  distance 
until  the  foot-prints  had  disappeared.  He  had  seen  an  elk, 
too  on  the  banks  of  the  Arkansas,  which  walked  out  on  a 
sand-bar  of  the  river,  but  before  he  could  steal  round  through 
the  bushes  to  get  a  shot,  it  had  re-entered  the  woods. 

Our  own  hunter,  Beatte,  returned  silent  and  sulky,  from  an 
unsuccessful  hunt.  As  yet  he  had  brought  us  in  nothing,  and 
we  had  depended  for  our  supplies  of  venison  upon  the  Cap- 
tain's mess.  Beatte  was  evidently  mortified,  for  he  looked 


40  ^  TOUR  OF  THE 

down  with  contempt  upon  the  rangers,  as  raw  and  inexperi- 
enced woodsmen,  but  little  skilled  in  hunting;  they,  on  the 
other  hand,  regarded  Beatte  with  no  very  complacent  eye,  as 
one  of  an  evil  breed,  and  always  spoke  of  him  as  "the  In- 
dian." 

Our  little  Frenchman,  Tonish,  also,  by  his  incessant  boast- 
ing, and  chattering,  and  gasconading,  in  his  balderdashed  dia- 
lect, had  drawn  upon  himself  the  ridicule  of  many  of  the  wags 
of  the  troop,  who  amused  themselves  at  his  expense  in  a  kind 
of  raillery  by  no  means  remarkable  for  its  delicacy ;  but  the 
little  varlet  was  so  completely  fortified  by  vanity  and  self-con- 
ceit, that  he  was  invulnerable  to  every  joke.  I  must  confess, 
however,  that  I  felt  a  little  mortified  at  the  sorry  figure  our 
retainers  were  making  among  these  moss-troopers  of  the  fron- 
tier. Even  our  very  equipments  came  in  for  a  share  of  unpopu- 
larity, and  I  heard  many  sneers  at  the  double-barrelled  guns 
with  which  we  were  provided  against  smaller  game ;  the  lads 
of  the  West  holding  "shot-guns,"  as  they  call  them,  in  great 
contempt,  thinking  grouse,  partridges,  and  even  wild  turkeys 
as  beneath  their  serious  attention,  and  the  rifle  the  only  fire- 
arm worthy  of  a  hunter. 

I  was  awakened  before  daybreak  the  next  morning,  by  the 
mournful  howling  of  a  wolf,  who  was  skulking  about  the  pur- 
lieus of  the  camp,  attracted  by  the  scent  of  venison.  Scarcely 
had  the  first  gray  streak  of  dawn  appeared,  when  a  youngster 
at  one  of  the  distant  lodges,  shaking  off  his  sleep,  crowed  in 
imitation  of  a  cock,  with  a  loud  clear  note  and  prolonged 
cadence,  that  would  have  done  credit  to  the  most  veteran 
chanticleer.  He  was  immediately  answered  from  another 
quarter,  as  if  from  a  rival  rooster.  The  chant  was  echoed 
from  lodge  to  lodge,  and  followed  by  the  cackling  of  hens, 
quacking  of  ducks,  gabbling  of  turkeys,  and  grunting  of 
swine,  until  we  seemed  to  have  been  transported  into  the 
midst  of  a  farmyard,  with  all  its  inmates  in  full  concert 
around  us. 

After  riding  a  short  distance  this  morning,  we  came  upon  a 
well-worn  Indian  track,  and  following  it,  scrambled  to  the 
summit  of  a  hill,  whence  we  had  a  wide  prospect  over  a  coun- 
try diversified  by  rocky  ridges  and  waving  lines  of  upland, 
and  enriched  by  groves  and  clumps  of  trees  of  varied  tuft  and 
foliage.  At  a  distance  to  the  west,  to  our  great  satisfaction, 
we  beheld  the  Red  Fork  rolling  its  ruddy  current  to  the  Ar 
kansas,  and  found  that  we  were  above  the  point  of  junction, 


A  TOUR  OF  TH&  PRAIttim.  41 

We  now  descended  and  pushed  forward,  with  much  difficulty, 
through  the  rich  alluvial  bottom  that  borders  the  Arkansas. 
Here  the  trees  were  interwoven  with  grape-vines,  forming  a 
kind  of  cordage,  from  trunk  to  trunk  and  limb  to  limb ;  there 
was  a  thick  undergrowth,  also,  of  bush  and  bramble,  and  such 
an  abundance  of  hops,  fit  for  gathering,  that  it  was  difficult  for 
our  horses  to  force  their  way  through. 

The  soil  was  imprinted  in  many  places  with  the  tracks  of 
deer,  and  the  claws  of  bears  were  to  be  traced  on  various  trees. 
Every  one  was  on  the  look-out  in  the  hope  of  starting  some 
game,  when  suddenly  there  was  a  bustle  and  a  clamor  in  a 
distant  part  of  the  line.  A  bear !  a  bear !  was  the  cry.  We 
all  pressed  forward  to  be  present  at  the  sport,  when  to  my 
infinite,  though  whimsical  chagrin,  I  found  it  to  be  our  two 
worthies,  Beatte  and  Tonish,  perpetrating  a  foul  murder  on  a 
polecat,  or  skunk!  The  animal  had  ensconced  itself  beneath 
the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  whence  it  kept  up  a  vigorous  defence 
in  its  peculiar  style,  until  the  surrounding  forest  was  in  a  high 
state  of  fragrance. 

Gibes  and  jokes  now  broke  out  on  all  sides  at  the  expense  of 
the  Indian  hunter,  and  he  was  advised  to  wear  the  scalp  of  the 
skunk  as  the  only  trophy  of  his  prowess.  When  they  found, 
however,  that  he  and  Tonish  were  absolutely  bent  upon  bearing 
off  the  carcass  as  a  peculiar  dainty,  there  was  a  universal 
expression  of  disgust ;  and  they  were  regarded  as  little  better 
than  cannibals. 

Mortified  at  this  ignominious  debut  of  our  two  hunters,  I 
insisted  upon  their  abandoning  their  prize  and  resuming  their 
march.  Beatte  complied  with  a  dogged,  discontented  air,  and 
lagged  behind  muttering  to  himself.  Tonish,  however,  with 
his  usual  buoyancy,  consoled  himself  by  vociferous  eulogies  on 
the  richness  and  delicacy  of  a  roasted  polecat,  which  he  swore 
was  considered  the  daintiest  of  dishes  by  all  experienced  Indian 
gourmands.  It  was  with  difficulty  I  could  silence  his  loqua- 
city by  repeated  and  peremptory  commands.  A  Frenchman's 
vivacity,  however,  if  repressed  in  one  way,  will  break  out  in 
another,  and  Tonish  now  eased  off  his  spleen  by  bestowing 
volleys  of  oaths  and  dry  blows  on  the  pack-horses.  I  was 
likely  to  be  no  gainer  in  the  end,  by  my  opposition  to  the 
humors  of  these  varlets,  for  after  a  time,  Beatte,  who  had 
lagged  behind,  rode  up  to  the  head  of  the  line  to  resume  his 
station  as  a  guide,  and  I  had  the  vexation  to  see  the  carcass  of 
his  prize,  stripped  of  its  skin,  nn  1  looking  like  a  fat  sucking- 


42  A  TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES. 

pig,  dangling  behind  his  saddle.  I  made  a  solemn  vow,  how- 
ever, in  secret,  that  our  fire  should  not  be  disgraced  by  the 
cooking  of  that  polecat. 


CHA1.TER  231. 

THE  CROSSiarO  OP  THE  ARKANSAS. 

WE  had  now  arrived  at  the  river,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
above  the  junction  of  the  Red  Fork ;  but  the  banks  were  steep 
and  crumbling,  and  the  current  was  deep  and  rapid.  It  was 
impossible,  therefore,  to  cross  at  this  place ;  and  we  resumed 
our  painful  course  through  the  forest,  dispatching  Beatte  ahead, 
in  search  of  a  fording  place.  We  had  proceeded  about  a  mile 
farther,  when  he  rejoined  us,  bringing  intelligence  of  a  place 
hard  by,  where  the  river,  for  a  great  part  of  its  breadth,  was 
rendered  f  ordable  by  sand-bars,  and  the  remainder  might  easily 
be  swam  by  the  horses. 

Here,  then,  we  made  a  halt.  Some  of  the  rangers  set  to 
work  vigorously  with  their  axes,  felling  trees  on  the  edge  of 
the  river,  wherewith  to  form  rafts  for  the  transportation  of 
their  baggage  and  camp  equipage.  Others  patrolled  the  banks 
of  the  river  farther  up,  in  hopes  of  finding  a  better  fording 
place ;  being  unwilling  to  risk  their  horses  in  the  deep  channel. 

It  was  now  that  our  worthies,  Beatte  and  Tonish,  had  an 
opportunity  of  displaying  their  Indian  adroitness  and  resource. 
At  the  Osage  village  which  we  had  passed  a  day  or  two  before, 
they  had  procured  a  dry  buffalo  skin.  This  was  now  produced ; 
cords  were  passed  through  a  number  of  small  eyelet-holes  with 
which  it  was  bordered,  and  it  was  drawn  up,  until  it  formed  a 
kind  of  deep  trough.  Sticks  were  then  placed  athwart  it  on 
the  inside,  to  keep  it  in  shape ;  our  camp  equipage  and  a  part 
of  our  baggage  were  placed  within,  and  the  singular  bark  was 
carried  down  the  bank  and  set  afloat.  A  cord  was  attached  to 
the  prow,  which  Beatte  took  between  his  teeth,  and  throwing 
himself  into  the  water,  went  ahead,  towing  the  bark  after  bin: ; 
while  Tonish  followed  behind,  to  keep  it  steady  and  to  propel 
it.  Part  of  the  way  they  had  foothold,  and  were  enabled  to 
wade,  but  in  the  main  current  they  were  obliged  to  swim.  The 
whole  way,  they  whooped  and  yelled  in  the  Indian  style,  until 
they  landed  safely  on  the  opposite  shorn 


A   TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES.  43 

The  Commissioner  and  myself  were  so  well  pleased  with  this 
Indian  mode  of  ferriage,  that  we  determined  to  trust  ourselves 
in  the  buffalo  hide.  Our  companions,  the  Count  and  Mr.  L., 
had  proceeded  with  the  horses,  along  the  river  bank,  in  search 
of  a  ford  which  some  of  the  rangers  had  discovered,  about  a 
mile  and  a  half  distant.  While  we  were  waiting  tec  the  return 
of  our  ferryman,  I  happened  to  cast  my  eyes  upon  a  heap  of 
luggage  under  a  bush,  and  descried  the  sleek  carcass  of  the 
polecat,  snugly  trussed  up,  and  ready  for  roasting  before  the 
evoning  fire.  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  plump  it  into 
the  river,  when  it  sunk  to  the  bottom  like  a  lump  of  lead ;  and 
thus  our  lodge  was  relieved  from  the  bad  odor  which  this  savory 
viand  had  threatened  to  bring  upon  it. 

Our  men  having  recrossed  with  their  cockle-shell  bark,  it 
was  drawn  on  shore,  half  filled  with  saddles,  saddlebags,  and 
other  luggage,  amounting  to  a  hundred  weight;  and  being 
again  placed  in  the  water,  I  was  invited  to  take  my  seat.  It 
appeared  to  me  pretty  much  like  the  embarkation  of  the  wise 
men  of  Gotham,  who  went  to  sea  in  a  bowl :  I  stepped  in,  how- 
ever, without  hesitation,  though  as  cautiously  as  possible,  and 
sat  down  on  the  top  of  the  luggage,  the  margin  of  the  hide 
sinking  to  within  a  hand's  breadth  of  the  water's  edge.  Rifles, 
fowling-pieces,  and  other  articles  of  small  bulk,  were  then 
handed  in,  until  I  protested  against  receiving  any  more  freight. 
"We  then  launched  forth  upon  the  stream,  the  bark  being  towed 
as  before. 

It  was  with  a  sensation  half  serious,  half  comic,  that  I  found 
myself  thus  afloat,  on  the  skin  of  a  buffalo,  in  the  midst  of  a 
wild  river,  surrounded  by  wilderness,  and  towed  along  by  a 
hah0  savage,  whooping  and  yelling  like  a  devil  incarnate.  To 
please  the  vanity  of  little  Tonish,  I  discharged  the  double- 
barrelled  gun,  to  the  right  and  left,  when  in  the  centre  of  the 
stream.  The  report  echoed  along  the  woody  shores,  and  was 
answered  by  shouts  from  some  of  the  rangers,  to  the  great 
exultation  of  the  little  Frenchman,  who  took  to  himself  the 
whole  glory  of  this  Indian  mode  of  navigation. 

Our  voyage  was  accomplished  happily;  the  Commissioner 
was  ferried  across  with  equal  success,  and  all  our  effects  were 
brought  over  in  the  same  manner.  Nothing  could  equal  the 
Tain-glorious  vaporing  of  little  Tonish,  as  he  strutted  about  the 
shore,  and  exulted  in  his  superior  skill  and  knowledge,  to  the 
rangers.  Beatte,  however,  kept  his  proud,  saturnine  look, 
without  a  smile.  He  had  a  vast  contempt  for  the  ignorance  of 


44  A   TOUR  OF  TUB  PRAIRIES. 

the  rangers,  and  felt  that  he  had  been  undervalued  by  them. 
His  only  observation  was,  "Deynow  see  de  Indian  good  for 
gometing,  anyhow!" 

The  broad,  sandy  shore  where  we  had  landed,  was  intersec- 
ted by  innumerable  tracks  of  elk,  deer,  bears,  racoons,  turkeys, 
and  water-fowl.  The  river  scenery  at  this  place  was  beauti- 
fully diversified,  presenting  long,  shining  reaches,  bordered 
by  willows  and  cottonwood  trees;  rich  bottoms,  with  lofty 
forests ;  among  which  towered  enormous  plane  trees,  and  the 
distance  was  closed  hi  by  high  embowered  promontories.  The 
foliage  had  a  yellow  autumnol  tint,  which  gave  to  the  sunny 
landscape  the  golden  tone  of  one  of  the  landscapes  of  Claude 
Lorraine.  There  was  animation  given  to  the  scene,  by  a  raft 
of  logs  and  branches,  on  which  the  Captain  and  his  prime  com- 
panion, the  Doctor,  were  ferrying  their  effects  across  the 
stream ;  and  by  a  long  line  of  rangers  on  horseback,  fording 
the  river  obliquely,  along  a  series  of  sand-bars,  about  a  mile 
and  a  half  distant. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
THE  CAMP  OF  THE  GLEN. 

CAMP  GOSSIP. — PAWNEES  AND  THEIR  HABITS. — A  HUNTER'S  AD- 
VENTURE.— HORSES  FOUND,  AND  MEN  LOST. 

BEING  joined  by  the  Captain  and  some  of  the  rangers,  we 
struck  into  the  woods  for  about  half  a  mile,  and  then  entered  a 
wild,  rocky  dell,  bordered  by  two  lofty  ridges  of  limestone, 
which  narrowed  as  we  advanced,  until  they  met  and  united ; 
making  almost  an  angle.  Here  a  fine  spring  of  water  rose 
among  the  rocks,  and  fed  a  silver  rill  that  ran  the  whole 
length  of  the  dell,  freshening  the  grass  with  which  it  was 
carpeted. 

In  this  rocky  nook  we  encamped,  among  tall  trees.  The 
rangers  gradually  joined  us,  straggling  through  the  forest 
singly  or  in  groups ;  some  on  horseback,  some  on  foot,  driving 
their  horses  before  them,  heavily  laden  with  baggage,  some 
dripping  wet,  having  fallen  into  the  river ;  for  they  had  ex- 
perienced much  fatigue  and  trouble  from  the  length  of  the 
ford,  and  the  depth  and  rapidity  of  the  stream.  They  looked 


A   TOUR   OF  THE  PRAIRIES.  45 

not  unlike  banditti  returning  with  their  plunder,  and  the  wild 
dell  was  a  retreat  worthy  to  receive  them.  The  effect  was 
heightened  after  dark,  when  the  light  of  the  fires  was  cast  upon 
rugged  looking  groups  of  men  and  horses ;  with  baggage  tum- 
bled in  heaps,  rifles  piled  against  the  trees,  and  saddles, 
bridles,  and  powder-horns  hanging  about  their  trunks. 

At  the  encampment  we  were  joined  by  the  young  Count  and 
his  companion,  and  the  young  half-breed,  Antoine,  who  had 
all  passed  successfully  by  the  ford.  To  my  annoyance,  how- 
ever, I  discovered  that  both  of  my  horses  were  missing.  I  had 
supposed  them  in  the  charge  of  Antoine ;  but  he,  with  charac- 
teristic carelessness,  had  paid  no  heed  to  them,  and  they  had 
probably  wandered  from  the  line  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
river.  It  was  arranged  that  Beatte  and  Antoine  should  recross 
the  river  at  an  early  hour  of  the  morning,  in  search  of  them. 

A  fat  buck,  and  a  number  of  wild  turkeys  being  brought 
into  the  camp,  we  managed,  with  the  addition  of  a  cup  of 
coffee,  to  make  a  comfortable  supper ;  after  which  I  repaired 
to  the  Captain's  lodge,  which  was  a  kind  of  council  fire  and 
gossiping  place  for  the  veterans  of  the  camp. 

As  we  were  conversing  together,  we  observed,  as  on  former 
nights,  a  dusky,  red  glow  in  the  west,  above  the  summits  of 
the  surrounding  cliffs.  It  was  again  attributed  to  Indian  fires 
on  the  prairies ;  and  supposed  to  be  on  the  western  side  of  the 
Arkansas.  If  so,  it  was  thought  they  must  be  made  by  some 
party  of  Pawnees,  as  the  Osage  hunters  seldom  ventured  in 
that  quarter.  Our  half-breeds,  however,  pronounced  them 
Osage  fires;  and  that  they  were  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Arkansas. 

The  conversation  now  turned  upon  the  Pawnees,  into  whose 
hunting  grounds  we  were  about  entering.  There  is  always 
some  wild  untamed  tribe  of  Indians,  who  form,  for  a  time,  the 
terror  of  a  frontier,  and  about  whom  all  kinds  of  fearful 
stories  are  told.  Such,  at  present,  was  the  case  with  the  Paw- 
nees, who  rove  the  regions  between  the  Arkansas  and  the  Eed 
River,  and  the  prairies  of  Texas.  They  were  represented  as 
admirable  horsemen,  and  always  on  horseback;  mounted  on 
fleet  and  hardy  steeds,  the  wild  race  of  the  prairies.  With 
these  they  roam  the  great  plains  that  extend  about  the  Arkan- 
sas, the  Red  River,  and  through  Texas,  to  the  Rocky  Moun. 
tains;  sometimes  engaged  in  hunting  the  deer  and  buffalo, 
sometimes  in  warlike  and  predatory  expeditions ;  for,  like  theii- 
counterparts,  the  sons  of  Ishmael,  their  hand  is  against  every 


46  A   TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES. 

one,  and  every  one's  hand  against  them.  Some  of  them  have 
no  fixed  habitation,  but  dwell  in  tents  of  skin,  easily  packed 
up  and  transported,  so  that  they  are  here  to-day,  and  away,  no 
one  knows  where,  to-morrow. 

One  of  the  veteran  hunters  gave  several  anecdotes  of  their 
mode  of  fighting.  Luckless,  according  to  his  account,  is  the 
band  of  weary  traders  or  hunters  descried  by  them,  in  the 
midst  of  a  prairie.  Sometimes,  they  will  steal  upon  them  by 
stratagem,  hanging  with  one  leg  over  the  saddle,  and  their  k 
bodies  concealed ;  so  that  their  troop  at  a  distance  has  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  gang  of  wild  horses.  When  they  have  thus 
gained  sufficiently  upon  the  enemy,  they  will  suddenly  raise 
themselves  in  their  saddles,  and  come  like  a  rushing  blast,  all 
fluttering  with  feathers,  shaking  their  mantles,  brandishing 
their  weapons,  and  making  hideous  yells.  In  this  way,  they 
Beck  to  strike  a  panic  into  the  horses,  and  put  them  to  the 
scamper,  when  they  will  pursue  and  carry  them  off  in  tri- 
umph. 

The  best  mode  of  defence,  according  to  this  vetern  woods^ 
man,  is  to  get  into  the  covert  of  some  wood,  or  thicket ;  or  if 
there  be  none  at  hand,  to  dismount,  tie  the  horses  firmly  head 
to  head  in  a  circle,  so  that  they  cannot  break  away  and  scatter, 
and  resort  to  the  shelter  of  a  ravine,  or  make  a  hollow  in  the 
sand,  where  they  may  be  screened  from  the  shafts  of  the  Paw^ 
nees.  The  latter  chiefly  use  the  bow  and  arrow,  and  are  dex- 
terous  archers;  circling  round  and  round  tiieir  enemy,  and 
launching  their  arrows  when  at  full  speed.  They  are  chiefly 
formidable  on  the  prairies,  where  they  have  free  career  for 
their  horses,  and  no  trees  to  turn  aside  their  arrows.  They 
will  rarely  follow  a  flying  enemy  into  the  forest. 

Several  anecdotes,  also,  were  given,  of  the  secrecy  and  cau- 
tion with  which  they  will  follow,  and  hang  about  the  camp  of 
an  enemy,  seeking  a  favorable  moment  for  plunder  or  attack. 

"We  must  now  begin  to  keep  a  sharp  look-out,"  said  the 
Captain.  ' '  I  must  issue  written  orders,  that  no  man  shall 
hunt  without  leave,  or  fire  off  a  gun,  on  pain  of  riding  a  wooden 
horse  with  a  sharp  back.  I  have  a  wild  crew  of  young  fellows, 
unaccustomed  to  frontier  service.  It  will  be  difficult  to  teach 
them  caution.  We  are  now  in  the  land  of  a  silent,  watchful, 
crafty  people,  who,  when  we  least  suspect  it,  may  be  around 
us,  spying  out  all  our  movements,  and  ready  to  pounce  upon  all 
Stragglers." 

"  How  will  you  be  able  to  keep  your  mea  from  firing,  if  they 


A  TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES.  47 

see  game  while  strolling  round  the  camp?"  asked  one  of  the 
rangers. 

"  They  must  not  take  their  guns  with  them  unless  they  are 
on  duty,  or  have  permission." 

"Ah,  Captain!"  cried  the  ranger,  "that  will  never  do  for 
me.  Where  I  go,  my  rifle  goes.  I  never  like  to  leave  it  be- 
hind ;  it's  like  a  part  of  myself.  There's  no  one  will  take  such 
care  of  it  as  I,  and  there's  nothing  will  take  such  care  of  me  as 
my  rifle." 

"  There's  truth  in  all  that,"  said  the  Captain,  touched  by  a 
true  hunter's  sympathy.  "I've  had  my  rifle  pretty  nigh  as 
long  as  I  have  had  my  wife,  and  a  faithful  friend  it  has  been 
tome." 

Here  the  Doctor,  who  is  as  keen  a  hunter  as  the  Captain, 
joined  in  the  conversation:  "A  neighbor  of  mine  says,  next  to 
my  rifle,  I'd  as  leave  lend  you  my  wife." 

"There's  few,"  observed  the  Captain,  "that  take  care  of 
their  rifles  as  they  ought  to  be  taken  care  of." 

"  Or  of  their  wives  either,"  replied  the  Doctor,  with  a  wink. 

"  That's  a  fact,"  rejoined  the  Captain. 

Word  was  now  brought  that  a  party  of  four  rangers,  headed 
by  "Old  Ryan,"  were  missing.  They  had  separated  from  the 
main  body,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  when  searching 
for  a  ford,  and  had  straggled  off,  nobody  knew  whither. 
Many  conjectures  were  made  about  them,  and  some  apprehen- 
sions expressed  for  their  safety. 

"I  should  send  to  look  after  them,"  said  the  Captain,  "but 
old  Ryan  is  with  them,  and  he  knows  how  to  take  care  of  him- 
self and  of  them  too.  If  it  were  not  for  him,  I  would  not  give 
much  for  the  rest ;  but  he  is  as  much  at  home  in  the  woods  or 
on  a  prairie  as  he  would  be  in  his  own  farmyard.  He's  never 
lost,  wherever  he  is.  There's  a  good  gang  of  them  to  stand  by 
one  another;  four  to  watch  and  one  to  take  care  of  the  fire." 

"  It's  a  dismal  thing  to  get  lost  at  night  in  a  strange  and  wild 
country, "  said  one  of  the  younger  rangers. 

"Not  if  you  have  one  or  two  in  company,"  said  an  elder  one. 
"For  my  part,  I  could  feel  as  cheerful  in  this  hollow  as  in  my 
own  home,  if  I  had  but  one  comrade  to  take  turns  to  watch 
and  keep  the  fire  going.  I  could  lie  here  for  hours,  and  gaze 
up  to  that  blazing  star  there,  that  seems  to  look  down  into  the 
camp  as  if  it  were  keeping  guard  over  it." 

"Aye,  the  stars  are  a  kind  of  company  to  one,  when  you 
have  to  keep  watch  alone.  That's  a  cheerful  star,  too,  some- 


48  A   TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES. 

how ;  that's  the  evening  star,  the  planet  Venus  they  call  it,  I 
think." 

"  If  that's  the  planet  Venus,"  said  one  of  the  council,  who,  I 
believe,  was  the  psalm-singing  schoolmaster,  "it  bodes  us  no 
good ;  for  I  recollect  reading  in  some  book  that  the  Pawnees 
worship  that  star,  and  sacrifice  their  prisoners  to  it.  So  I 
should  not  feel  the  better  for  the  sight  of  that  star  in  this  part 
of  the  country." 

"  Well,"  said  the  sergeant,  a  thorough-bred  woodsman,  "star 
or  no  star,  I  have  passed  many  a  night  alone  in  a  wilder  place 
than  this,  and  slept  sound  too,  I'll  warrant  you.  Once,  how- 
ever, I  had  rather  an  uneasy  time  of  it.  I  was  belated  hi  pass- 
ing through  a  tract  of  wood,  near  the  Tombigbee  Eiver;  so  I 
struck  a  light,  made  a  fire,  and  turned  my  horse  loose,  while 
I  stretched  myself  to  sleep.  By  and  by,  I  heard  the  wolves 
howl.  My  horse  came  crowding  near  me  for  protection,  for  he 
was  terribly  frightened.  I  drove  him  off,  but  he  returned,  and 
drew  nearer  and  nearer,  and  stood  looking  at  me  and  at  the 
fire,  and  dozing,  and  nodding,  and  tottering  on  his  fore  feet, 
for  he  was  powerful  tired.  After  a  while,  I  heard  a  strange 
dismal  cry.  I  thought  at  first  it  might  be  an  owl.  I  heard  it 
again,  and  then  I  knew  it  was  not  an  owl,  but  must  be  a  pan- 
ther. I  felt  rather  awkward,  for  I  had  no  weapon  but  a 
double-bladed  penknife.  I  however  prepared  for  defence  in 
the  best  way  I  could,  and  piled  up  small  brands  from  the  fire, 
to  pepper  him  with,  should  he  come  nigh.  The  company  of 
my  horse  now  seemed  a  comfort  to  me ;  the  poor  creature  laid 
down  beside  me  and  soon  fell  asleep,  being  so  tired.  I  kept 
watch,  and  nodded  and  dozed,  and  started  awake,  and  looked 
round,  expecting  to  see  the  glaring  eyes  of  the  panther  close 
upon  me ;  but  somehow  or  other,  fatigue  got  the  better  of  me, 
and  I  fell  asleep  outright.  In  the  morning  I  found  the  tracks 
of  a  panther  within  sixty  paces.  They  were  as  large  as  my 
two  fists.  He  had  evidently  been  walking  backward  and  for- 
ward, trying  to  make  up  his  mind  to  attack  me ;  but  lucidly, 
he  had  not  courage." 

October  16th. — I  awoke  before  daylight.  The  moon  was 
shining  feebly  down  into  the  glen,  from  among  light  drifting 
clouds ;  the  camp  fires  were  nearly  burnt  out,  and  the  men 
lying  about  them,  wrapped  in  blankets.  With  the  first  streak 
of  day,  our  huntsman,  Beatte,  with  Antoine,  the  young  half- 
breed,  set  off  to  recross  the  river,  in  search  of  the  stray  horses, 
in  company  with  several  rangers  who  had  left  their  rifles  on 


A  TOUR  OF  THE  PRAIRIES.  49 

the  opposite  shore.  As  the  ford  was  deep,  and  they  were 
obliged  to  cross  in  a  diagonal  line,  against  a  rapid  current, 
they  had  to  be  mounted  on  the  tallest  and  strongest  horses. 

By  eight  o'clock,  Beatte  returned.  He  had  found  the  horses, 
but  had  lost  Antoine.  The  latter,  he  said,  was  a  boy,  a  green- 
horn, that  knew  nothing  of  the  woods.  He  had  wandered  out 
of  sight  of  him,  and  got  lost.  However,  there  were  plenty 
more  for  him  to  fall  in  company  with,  as  some  of  the  rangers 
had  gone  astray  also,  and  old  Eyan  and  his  party  had  not 
returned. 

We  waited  until  the  morning  was  somewhat  advanced,  in 
hopes  of  being  rejoined  by  the  stragglers,  but  they  did  not 
make  their  appearance.  The  Captain  observed,  that  the 
Indians  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  were  all  well  dis- 
posed to  the  whites ;  so  that  no  serious  apprehensions  need  be 
entertained  for  the  safety  of  the  missing.  The  greatest  danger 
was,  that  their  horses  might  be  stolen  in  the  night  by  strag- 
gling Osages.  He  determined,  therefore,  to  proceed,  leaving  a 
rear  guard  in  the  camp,  to  await  their  arrival. 

I  sat  on  a  rock  that  overhung  the  spring  at  the  upper  part  of 
the  dell,  and  amused  myself  by  watching  the  changing  scene 
before  me.  First,  the  preparations  for  departure.  Horses 
driven  in  from  the  purlieus  of  the  camp ;  rangers  riding  about 
among  rocks  and  bushes  in  quest  of  others  that  had  strayed  to 
a  distance ;  the  bustle  of  packing  up  camp  equipage,  and  the 
clamor  after  kettles  and  frying-pans  borrowed  by  one  mess 
from  another,  mixed  up  with  oaths  and  exclamations  at  restive 
horses,  or  others  that  had  wandered  away  to  graze  after  being 
packed,  among  which  the  voice  of  our  little  Frenchman, 
Toiiish,  was  particularly  to  be  distinguished. 

The  bugle  sounded  the  signal  to  mount  and  march.  The 
troop  filed  off  in  irregular  line  down  the  glen,  and  through  the 
open  forest,  winding  and  gradually  disappearing  among  the 
trees,  though  the  clamor  of  voices  and  the  notes  of  the  bugle 
could  be  heard  for  some  time  afterward.  The  rear-guard 
remained  under  the  trees  in  the  lower  part  of  the  dell,  some  on 
horseback,  with  their  rifles  on  their  shoulders;  others  seated 
by  the  fire  or  lying  on  the  ground,  gossiping  in  a  low,  lazy 
tone  of  voice,  their  horses  unsaddled,  standing  and  dozing 
around,  while  one  of  the  rangers,  profiting  by  this  interval  of 
leizure,  was  shaving  himself  before  a  pocket  mirror  stuck 
against  the  trunk  of  a  tree. 

The  clamor  of  voices  and  the  notes  of  the  bugle  at  length 


50  A   TOUR   OF  THE  PRAIRIES. 

died  away,  and  the  glen  relapsed  into  quiet  and  silence,  broken 
occasionally  by  the  low  murmuring  tone  of  the  group  around 
the  fire,  or  the  pensive  whistle  of  some  laggard  among  the 
trees ;  or  the  rustling  of  the  yellow  leaves,  which  the  lightest 
breath  of  air  brought  down  in  wavering  showers,  a  sign  of  the 
departing  glories  of  the  year. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

DEER-SHOOTING.— LIFE  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.— BEAUTIFUL  ENCAMP- 
MENT.—HUNTER'S  LUCK.— ANECDOTES  OF  THE  DELAWARES  AND 
THEIR  SUPERSTITIONS. 

HAVING  passed  through  the  skirt  of  woodland  bordering  the 
river,  we  ascended  the  hills,  taking  a  westerly  course  through 
an  undulating  country  of  "oak  openings,"  where  the  eye 
stretched  over  wide  tracts  of  hill  and  dale,  diversified  by  for- 
ests, groves,  and  clumps  of  trees.  As  we  were  proceeding  at  a 
slow  pace,  those  who  were  at  the  head  of  the  line  descried 
four  deer  grazing  on  a  grassy  slope  about  half  a  mile  distant. 
They  apparently  had  not  perceived  our  approach,  and  con- 
tinued to  graze  in  perfect  tranquillity.  A  young  ranger  ob- 
tained permission  from  the  Captain  to  go  in  pursuit  of  them, 
and  the  troop  halted  in  lengthened  line,  watching  him  in 
silence.  Walking  his  horse  slowly  and  cautiously,  he  made  a 
circuit  until  a  screen  of  wood  intervened  between  him  and  the 
deer.  Dismounting  then,  he  left  his  horse  among  the  trees, 
and  creeping  round  a  knoll,  was  hidden  from  our  view.  We 
now  kept  our  eyes  intently  fixed  on  the  deer,  which  continued 
grazing,  unconscious  of  their  danger.  Presently  there  was  the 
sharp  report  of  a  rifle ;  a  fine  buck  made  a  convulsive  bound 
and  fell  to  the  earth ;  his  companions  scampered  off.  Immedi- 
ately our  whole  line  of  march  was  broken ;  there  was  a  helter- 
skelter  galloping  of  the  youngsters  of  the  troop,  eager  to  get  a 
shot  at  the  fugitives ;  and  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  person- 
ages in  the  chase  was  our  little  Frenchman  Tonish,  on  his 
silver-gray ;  having  abandoned  his  pack-horses  at  the  first  sight 
of  the  deer.  It  was  some  time  before  our  scattered  forces 
could  be  recalled  by  the  bugle,  and  our  march  resumed. 

Two  or  three  times  in  the  course  of  the  day  we  were  inter- 
rupted by  hurry-scurry  scenes  of  the  kind,  The  young  men 


A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  61 

of  the  troop  were  full  of  excitement  on  entering  an  unexplored 
country  abounding  in  game,  and  they  were  too  little  accus- 
tomed to  discipline  or  restraint  to  be  kept  in  order.  No  one, 
however,  was  more  unmanageable  than  Tonish.  Having  an 
intense  conceit  of  his  skill  as  a  hunter,  and  an  irrepressible 
passion  for  display,  he  was  continually  sallying  forth,  like  an 
ill-broken  hound,  whenever  any  game  was  started,  and  had  as 
often  to  be  whipped  back. 

At  length  his  curiosity  got  a  salutary  check.  A  fat  doe 
came  bounding  along  in  full  view  of  the  whole  line.  Tonish 
dismounted,  levelled  his  rifle,  and  had  a  fair  shot.  The  doe 
kept  on.  He  sprang  upon  his  horse,  stood  up  on  the  saddle  like 
a  posture-master,  and  continued  gazing  after  the  animal  as  if 
certain  to  see  it  fall.  The  doe,  however,  kept  on  its  way 
rejoicing ;  a  laugh  broke  out  along  the  Line,  the  little  French- 
man slipped  quietly  into  his  saddle,  began  to  belabor  and  blas- 
pheme the  wandering  pack-horses,  as  if  they  had  been  to  blame, 
and  for  some  time  we  were  relieved  from  his  vaunting  and 
vaporing. 

In  one  place  of  our  march  we  came  to  the  remains  of  an  old 
Indian  encampment,  on  the  banks  of  a  fine  stream,  with  the 
moss-grown  skulls  of  deer  lying  here  and  there  about  it.  As 
we  were  in  the  Pawnee  country,  it  was  supposed,  of  course,  to 
to  have  been  a  camp  of  those  formidable  rovers ;  the  Doctor, 
however,  after  considering  the  shape  and  disposition  of  the 
lodges,  pronounced  it  the  camp  of  some  bold  Delawares,  who 
had  probably  made  a  brief  and  dashing  excursion  into  these 
dangerous  hunting  grounds. 

Having  proceeded  some  distance  farther,  we  observed  a  cou- 
ple of  figures  on  horseback,  slowly  moving  parallel  to  us  along 
the  edge  of  a  naked  hill  about  two  miles  distant ;  and  appar- 
ently reconnoitring  us.  There  was  a  halt,  and  much  gazing 
and  conjecturing.  Were  they  Indians?  If  Indians,  were  they 
Pawnees?  There  is  something  exciting  to  the  imagination  and 
stirring  to  the  feelings,  while  traversing  these  hostile  plains,  in 
seeing  a  horseman  prowling  along  the  horizon.  It  is  like  de- 
scrying a  sail  at  sea  in  time  of  war,  when  it  may  be  either  a 
privateer  or  a  pirate.  Our  conjectures  were  soon  set  at  rest 
by  reconnoitring  the  two  horsemen  through  a  small  spyglass, 
when  they  proved  to  be  two  of  the  men  we  had  left  at  the 
camp,  who  had  set  out  to  rejoin  us,  and  had  wandered  from 
the  track. 

Our  march  this  day  was  aiiLiiating  and  delightful.     We 


62  A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

were  in  a  region  of  adventure;  breaking  our  way  through  a 
country  hitherto  untrodden  by  white  men,  excepting  perchance 
by  some  solitary  trapper.  The  weather  was  in  its  perfection, 
temperate,  genial  and  enli vening ;  a  deep  blue  sky  with  a  few 
light  feathery  clouds,  an  atmosphere  of  perfect  transparency, 
an  air  pure  and  bland,  and  a  glorious  country  spreading  out 
far  and  wide  in  the  golden  sunshine  of  an  autumnal  day ;  but 
all  silent,  lifeless,  without  a  human  habitation,  and  apparently 
without  a  human  inhabitant !  It  was  as  if  a  ban  hung  over 
this  fair  but  fated  region.  The  very  Indians  dared  not  abide 
here,  but  made  it  a  mere  scene  of  perilous  enterprise,  to  hunt 
for  a  few  days,  and  then  away. 

After  a  march  of  about  fifteen  miles  west  we  encamped  in  a 
beautiful  peninsula,  made  by  the  windings  and  doublings  of  a 
deep,  clear,  and  almost  motionless  brook,  and  covered  by  an 
open  grove  of  lofty  and  magnificent  trees.  Several  hunters 
immediately  started  forth  in  quest  of  game  before  the  noise  of 
the  camp  should  frighten  it  from  the  vicinity.  Our  man, 
Beatte,  also  took  his  rifle  and  went  forth  alone,  in  a  different 
course  from  the  rest. 

For  my  own  part,  I  lay  on  the  grass  under  the  trees,  and 
built  castles  in  the  clouds,  and  indulged  in  the  very  luxury  of 
rural  repose.  Indeed  I  can  scarcely  conceive  a  kind  of  life 
more  calculated  to  put  both  mind  and  body  in  a  healthful  tone. 
A  morning's  ride  of  several  hours  diversified  by  hunting  inci- 
dents; an  encampment  in  the  afternoon  under  some  noble 
grove  on  the  borders  of  a  stream ;  an  evening  banquet  of  veni- 
son, fresh  killed,  roasted,  or  broiled  on  the  coals;  turkeys 
just  from  the  thickets  and  wild  honey  from  the  trees;  and  all 
relished  with  an  appetite  unknown  to  the  gourmets  of  the  cities. 
And  at  night — such  sweet  sleeping  in  the  open  air,  or  waking 
and  gazing  at  the  moon  and  stars,  shining  between  the  trees ! 

On  the  present  occasion,  however,  we  had  not  much  reason 
to  boast  of  our  larder.  But  one  deer  had  been  killed  during  the 
day,  and  none  of  that  had  reached  our  lodge.  We  were  fain, 
therefore,  to  stay  our  keen  appetites  by  some  scraps  of  turkey 
brought  from  the  last  encampment,  eked  out  with  a  slice  or 
two  of  salt  pork.  This  scarcity,  however,  did  not  continue 
long.  Before  dark  a  young  hunter  returned  well  laden  with 
spoil.  He  had  shot  a  deer,  cut  it  up  in  an  artist-like  style,  and, 
putting  the  meat  in  a  kind  of  sack  made  of  the  hide,  had  slung 
it  across  his  shoulder  and  trudged  with  it  to  camp. 

Not  long  after,  Beatte  made  his  appearance  with  a  fat  doe 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  53 

across  his  horse.  It  was  the  first  game  he  had  brought  in,  and 
I  was  glad  to  see  him  with  a  trophy  that  might  efface  the 
memory  of  the  polecat.  He  laid  the  carcass  down  by  our  fire 
without  saying  a  word,  and  then  turned  to  unsaddle  his  horse ; 
nor  could  any  questions  from  us  about  his  hunting  draw  from 
him  more  than  laconic  replies.  If  Beatte,  however,  observed 
this  Indian  taciturnity  about  what  he  had  done,  Tonish  made 
up  for  it  by  boasting  of  what  he  meant  to  do.  Now  that  we 
were  in  a  good  hunting  country  he  meant  to  take  the  field,  and, 
if  we  would  take  his  word  for  it,  our  lodge  would  henceforth 
be  overwhelmed  with  game.  Luckily  his  talking  did  not  pre- 
vent his  working,  the  doe  was  skilfully  dissected,  several  fat 
ribs  roasted  before  the  fire,  the  coffee  kettle  replenished,  and 
in  a  little  while  we  were  enabled  to  indemnify  ourselves  luxuri- 
ously for  our  late  meagre  repast. 

The  Captain  did  not  return  until  late,  and  he  returned  empty- 
handed.  He  had  been  in  pursuit  of  his  usual  game,  the  deer, 
when  he  came  upon  the  tracks  of  a  gang  of  about  sixty  elk. 
Having  never  killed  an  animal  of  the  kind,  and  the  elk  being 
at  this  moment  an  object  of  ambition  among  all  the  veteran 
hunters  of  the  camp,  he  abandoned  his  pursuit  of  the  deer, 
and  followed  the  newly  discovered  track.  After  some  time  he 
came  in  sight  of  the  elk,  and  had  several  fair  chances  of  a  shot, 
but  was  anxious  to  bring  down  a  large  buck  which  kept  in  the 
advance.  Finding  at  length  there  was  danger  of  the  whole 
gang  escaping  him,  he  fired  at  a  doe.  The  shot  took  effect, 
but  the  animal  had  sufficient  strength  to  keep  on  for  a  time 
with  its  companions.  From  the  tracks  of  blood  he  felt  confi- 
dent it  was  mortally  wounded,  but  evening  came  on,  he  could 
not  keep  the  trail,  and  had  to  give  up  the  search  until  morn- 
ing. 

Old  Eyan  and  his  little  band  had  not  yet  rejoined  us,  neither 
had  our  young  half-breed  Antoine  made  his  appearance.  It 
was  determined,  therefore,  to  remain  at  our  encampment  for 
the  following  day,  to  give  time  for  all  stragglers  to  arrive. 

The  conversation  this  evening,  among  the  old  huntsmen, 
turned  upon  the  Delaware  tribe,  one  of  whose  encampments  we 
had  passed  in  the  course  of  the  day ;  and  anecdotes  were  given 
of  their  prowess  in  war  and  dexterity  in  hunting.  They  used 
to  be  deadly  foes  of  the  Osages,  who  stood  in  great  awe  of  their 
desperate  valor,  though  they  were  apt  to  attribute  it  to  a  whim- 
sical cause.  "Look  at  the  Delawares,"  would  they  say,  " dey 
got  short  leg — no  can  run — must  stand  and  fight  a  great  heap," 


54  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

In  fact  the  Delawares  are  rather  short  legged,  while  the  Osagea 
are  remarkable  for  length  of  limb. 

The  expeditions  of  the  Dela wares,  whether  of  war  or  hunting, 
are  wide  and  fearless ;  a  small  band  of  them  will  penetrate  far 
into  these  dangerous  and  hostile  wilds,  and  will  push  their  en- 
campments even  to  the  Rocky  Mountains.  This  daring  tem- 
per may  be  in  some  measure  encouraged  by  one  of  the  super- 
stitions of  their  creed.  They  believe  that  a  guardian  spirit,  in 
the  form  of  a  great  eagle,  watches  over  them,  hovering  in  the 
sky,  far  out  of  sight.  Sometimes,  when  well  pleased  with 
them,  he  wheels  down  into  the  lower  regions,  and  may  be  seen 
circling  with  widespread  wings  against  the  white  clouds;  at 
such  times  the  seasons  are  propitious,  the  corn  grows  finely, 
and  they  have  great  success  in  hunting.  Sometimes,  however, 
he  is  angry,  and  then  he  vents  his  rage  in  the  thunder,  which 
is  his  voice,  and  the  lightning,  which  is  the  flashing  of  his  eye, 
and  strikes  dead  the  object  of  his  displeasure. 

The  Delawares  make  sacrifices  to  this  spirit,  who  occasion- 
ally lets  drop  a  feather  from  his  wing  in  token  of  satisfaction. 
These  feathers  render  the  wearer  invisible,  and  invulnerable. 
Indeed,  the  Indians  generally  consider  the  feathers  of  the  eagle 
possessed  of  occult  and  sovereign  virtues. 

At  one  time  a  party  of  the  Delawares,  in  the  course  of  a  bold 
excursion  into  the  Pawnee  hunting  grounds,  were  surrounded 
on  one  of  the  great  plains,  and  nearly  destroyed.  The  remnant 
took  refuge  on  the  summit  of  one  of  those  isolated  and  conical 
hills  which  rise  almost  like  artificial  mounds,  from  the  midst 
of  the  prairies.  Here  the  chief  warrior,  driven  almost  to  de- 
spair, sacrificed  his  horse  to  the  tutelar  spirit.  Suddenly  an 
enormous  eagle,  rushing  down  from  the  sky,  bore  off  the  vic- 
tim in  his  talons,  and  mounting  into  the  air,  dropped  a  quill 
foather  from  his  wing.  The  chief  caught  it  up  with  joy,  bound 
it  to  his  forehead,  and,  leading  his  followers  down  the  hill,  cut 
his  way  through  the  enemy  with  great  slaughter,  and  without 
any  one  of  his  party  receiving  a  wound. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THB  SEARCH  FOR  THE  ELK.— PAWNEE  STORIES. 

WITH  the  morning  dawn,  the  prime  hunters  of  the  camp 
were  all  on  the  alert,  and  sot  off  in  different  directions,  to  beat 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  55 

up  the  country  for  game.  The  Captain's  brother,  Sergeant 
Bean,  was  among  the  first,  and  returned  before  breakfast  with 
success,  having  killed  a  fat  doe,  almost  within  the  purlieus  of 
the  camp. 

When  breakfast  was  over,  the  Captain  mounted  his  horse, 
to  go  in  quest  of  the  elk  which  he  had  wounded  on  the  preced- 
ing evening;  and  which,  he  was  persuaded,  had  received  its 
death- wound.  I  determined  to  join  him  in  the  search,  and  we 
accordingly  sallied  forth  together,  accompanied  also  by  his 
brother,  the  sergeant,  and  a  lieutenant.  Two  rangers  followed 
on  foot,  to  bring  home  the  carcass  of  the  doe  which  the  ser- 
geant had  killed.  We  had  not  ridden  far,  when  we  came  to 
where  it  lay,  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful 
woodland  scene.  The  two  rangers  immediately  fell  to  work, 
with  true  hunters'  skill,  to  dismember  it,  and  prepare  it  for 
transportation  to  the  camp,  while  we  continued  on  our  course. 
We  passed  along  sloping  hillsides,  among  skirts  of  thicket  and 
scattered  forest  trees,  until  we  came  to  a  place  where  the  long 
herbage  was  pressed  down  with  numerous  elk  beds.  Here  the 
Captain  had  first  roused  the  gang  of  elks,  and,  after  looking 
about  diligently  for  a  little  while,  he  pointed  out  their  "trail," 
the  foot-prints  of  which  were  as  large  as  those  of  horned  cat- 
tle. He  now  put  himself  upon, the  track,  and  went  quietly  for- 
ward, the  rest  of  us  following  him  in  Indian  file.  At  length  he 
halted  at  the  place  where  the  elk  had  been  when  shot  at.  Spots 
of  blood  on  the  surrounding  herbage  showed  that  the  shot  had 
been  effective.  The  wounded  animal  had  evidently  kept  for 
some  distance  with  the  rest  of  the  herd,  as  could  be  seen  by 
sprinklings  of  blood  here  and  there,  on  the  shrubs  and  weeds 
bordering  the  trail.  These  at  length  suddenly  disappeared. 
"Somewhere  hereabout,"  said  the  Captain,  "the  elk  must 
have  turned  off  from  the  gang.  Whenever  they  feel  them- 
selves mortally  wounded,  they  will  turn  aside,  and  seek  some 
out-of-the-way  place  to  die  alone." 

There  was  something  in  this  picture  of  the  last  moments  of  a 
wounded  deer,  to  touch  the  sympathies  of  one  not  hardened  to 
the  gentle  disports  of  the  chase ;  such  sympathies,  however, 
are  but  transient.  Man  is  naturally  an  animal  of  prey ;  and, 
however  changed  by  civilization,  will  readily  relapse  into  his 
instinct  for  destruction.  I  found  my  ravenous  and  sangui- 
nary propensities  daily  growing  stronger  upon  the  prairies. 

After  looking  about  for  a  little  while,  the  Captain  succeeded 
in  finding  the  separate  trail  of  the  wounded  elk,  which  turned 


56  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

off  almost  at  right  angles  from  that  of  the  herd,  and  entered 
an  open  forest  of  scattered  trees.  The  traces  of  blood  became 
more  faint  and  rare,  and  occurred  at  greater  distances:  at 
length  they  ceased  altogether,  and  the  ground  was  so  hard, 
and  the  herbage  so  much  parched  and  withered,  that  the  foot 
prints  of  the  animal  could  no  longer  be  perceived. 

"The  elk  must  he  somewhere  in  this  neighborhood,"  said 
the  Captain,  "as  you  may  know  by  those  turkey-buzzards 
wheeling  about  in  the  air:  for  they  always  hover  in  that  way 
above  some  carcass.  However,  the  dead  elk  cannot  get  away, 
so  let  us  follow  the  trail  of  the  living  ones :  they  may  have 
halted  at  no  great  distance,  and  we  may  find  them  grazing, 
and  get  another  crack  at  them." 

We  accordingly  returned,  and  resumed  the  trail  of  the  elks, 
which  led  us  a  straggling  course  over  hill  and  dale,  covered 
with  scattered  oaks.  Every  now  and  then  we  would  catch  a 
glimpse  of  a  deer  bounding  away  across  some  glade  of  the 
forest,  but  the  Captain  was  not  to  be  diverted  from  his  elk 
hunt  by  such  inferior  game.  A  large  flock  of  wild  turkeys, 
too,  were  roused  by  the  trampling  of  our  horses-,  some  scam- 
pered off  as  fast  as  their  long  legs  could  carry  them;  others 
fluttered  up  into  the  trees,  where  they  remained  with  out- 
stretched necks,  gazing  at  us.  The  Captain  would  not  allow  a 
rifle  to  be  discharged  at  them,  lest  it  should  alarm  the  elk, 
which  he  hoped  to  find  in  the  vicinity.  At  length  we  came  to 
where  the  forest  ended  in  a  steep  bank,  and  the  Red  Fork 
wound  its  way  below  us,  between  broad  sandy  shores.  The 
trail  descended  the  bank,  and  we  could  trace  it,  with  our  eyes, 
across  the  level  sands,  until  it  terminated  in  the  river,  which, 
it  was  evident,  the  gang  had  forded  on  the  preceding  evening. 

"It  is  needless  to  follow  on  any  farther,"  said  the  Captain. 
"  The  elk  must  have  been  much  frightened,  and,  after  crossing 
the  river,  may  have  kept  on  for  twenty  miles  without  stop- 
ping." 

•Our  little  party  now  divided,  the  lieutenant  and  sergeant 
making  a  circuit  in  quest  of  game,  and  the  Captain  and  myself 
taking  the  direction  of  the  camp.  On  our  way,  we  came  to  a 
buffalo  track,  more  than  a  year  old.  It  was  not  wider  than  an 
ordinary  footpath,  and  worn  deep  into  the  soil;  for  these 
animals  follow  each  other  in  single  file.  Shortly  afterward, 
we  met  two  rangers  on  foot,  hunting.  They  had  wounded  an 
elk,  but  he  had  escaped ;  and  in  pursuing  him,  had  found  the 
one  shot  by  the  Captain  on  the  preceding  evening.  They 


A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  57 

turned  back,  and  conducted  us  to  it.  It  was  a  noble  animal, 
as  large  as  a  yearling  heifer,  and  lay  in  an  open  part  of  the 
forest,  about  a  mile  and  a  half  distant  from  the  place  where  it 
had  been  shot.  The  turkey -buzzards,  which  we  had  previously 
noticed,  were  wheeling  in  the  air  above  it.  The  observation 
of  the  Captain  seemed  verified.  The  poor  animal,  as  life  was 
ebbing  away,  had  apparently  abandoned  its  unhurt  com- 
panions, and  turned  aside  to  die  alone. 

The  Captein  and  the  two  rangers  forthwith  fell  to  work, 
with  their  hunting-knives,  to  flay  and  cut  up  the  carcass.  It 
was  already  tainted  on  the  inside,  but  ample  collops  were  cut 
from  the  ribs  and  haunches,  and  laid  in  a  heap  on  the  out- 
stretched hide.  Holes  were  then  cut  along  the  border  of  the 
hide,  raw  thongs  were  passed  through  them,  and  the  whole 
drawn  up  like  a  sack,  which  was  swung  behind  the  Captain's 
saddle.  All  this  while,  the  turkey-buzzards  were  soaring  over- 
head, waiting  for  our  departure,  to  swoop  down  and  banquet 
on  the  carcass. 

The  wreck  of  the  poor  elk  being  thus  dismantled,  the  Cap- 
tain and  myself  mounted  our  horses,  and  jogged  back  to  the 
camp,  while  the  two  rangers  resumed  their  hunting. 

On  reaching  the  camp,  I  found  there  our  young  half -breed, 
Antoine.  After  separating  from  Beatte,  in  the  search  after 
the  stray  horses  on  the  other  side  of  the  Arkansas,  he  had 
fallen  upon  a  wrong  track,  which  he  followed  for  several  miles, 
when  he  overtook  old  Ryan  and  his  party,  and  found  he  had 
been  following  their  traces. 

They  all  forded  the  Arkansas  about  eight  miles  above  our 
crossing  place,  and  found  their  way  to  our  late  encampment  in 
the  glen,  where  the  rear-guard  we  had  left  behind  was  waiting 
for  them.  Antoine,  being  well  mounted,  and  somewhat  im- 
patient to  rejoin  us,  had  pushed  on  alone,  following  our  trail, 
to  our  present  encampment,  and  bringing  the  carcass  of  a 
young  bear  which  he  had  killed. 

Our  camp,  during  the  residue  of  the  day,  presented  a  min- 
gled picture  of  bustle  and  repose.  Some  of  the  men  were  busy 
round  the  fires,  jerking  and  roasting  venison  and  bear's  meat, 
to  be  packed  up  as  a  future  supply.  Some  were  stretching 
and  dressing  the  skins  of  the  animals  they  had  killed ;  others 
were  washing  their  clothes  in  the  brook,  and  hanging  them  on 
the  bushes  to  dry ;  while  many  were  lying  on  the  grass,  and 
lazily  gossiping  in  the  shade.  Every  now  and  then  a  hunter 
would  return,  on  horseback  '">r  on  foot,  laden  with  game,  or 


f>8  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

empty  handed.  Those  who  brought  home  any  spoil,  deposited 
it  at  the  Captain's  fire,  and  then  filed  off  to  their  respective 
messes,  to  relate  their  day's  exploits  to  their  companions.  The 
game  killed  at  this  camp  consisted  of  six  deer,  one  elk,  two 
bears,  and  six  or  eight  turkeys. 

During  the  last  two  or  three  days,  since  their  wild  Indian 
achievement  in  navigating  the  river,  our  retainers  had  risen 
in  consequence  among  the  rangers ;  and  now  I  found  Tonish 
making  himself  a  complete  oracle  among  some  of  the  raw  and 
inexperienced  recruits,  who  had  never  been  in  the  wilderness. 
He  had  continually  a  knot  hanging  about  him,  and  listening 
to  his  extravagant  tales  about  the  Pawnees,  with  whom  he 
pretended  to  have  had  fearful  encounters.  His  representa- 
tions, in  fact,  were  calculated  to  inspire  his  hearers  with  an 
awful  idea  of  the  foe  into  whose  lands  they  were  intruding. 
According  to  his  accounts,  the  rifle  of  the  white  man  was  no 
match  for  the  bow  and  arrow  of  the  Pawnee.  When  the  rifle 
was  once  discharged,  it  took  time  and  trouble  to  load  it  again, 
and  in  the  meantime  the  enemy  could  keep  on  launching  his 
shafts  as  fast  as  he  could  draw  his  bow.  Then  the  Pawnee, 
according  to  Tonish,  could  shoot,  with  unerring  aim,  three 
hundred  yards,  and  send  his  arrow  clean  through  and  through 
a  buffalo;  nay,  he  had  known  a  Pawnee  shaft  pass  through  one 
buffalo  and  wound  another.  And  then  the  way  the  Pawnees 
sheltered  themselves  from  the  shots  of  their  enemy:  they 
would  hang  with  one  leg  over  the  saddle,  crouching  their  bodies 
along  the  opposite  side  of  their  horse,  and  would  shoot  their 
arrows  from  under  his  neck,  while  at  full  speed ! 

If  Tonish  was  to  be  believed,  there  was  peril  at  every  step  in 
these  debatable  grounds  of  the  Indian  tribes.  Pawnees  lurked 
unseen  among  the  thickets  and  ravines.  They  had  their  scouts 
and  sentinels  on  the  summit  of  the  mounds  which  command 
a  view  over  the  prairies,  where  they  lay  crouched  in  the  tall 
grass;  only  now  and  then  raising  their  heads  to  watch  the 
movements  of  any  war  or  hunting  party  that  might  be  passing 
in  lengthened  line  below.  At  night,  they  would  lurk  round  an 
encampment;  crawling  through  the  grass,  and  imitating  the 
movements  of  a  wolf,  so  as  to  deceive  the  sentinel  on  the  out- 
post, until,  having  arrived  sufficiently  near,  they  would  speed 
an  arrow  through  his  heart,  and  retreat  undiscovered.  In 
telling  his  stories,  Tonish  would  appeal  from  time  to  time  to 
Beatte,  for  the  truth  of  what  he  said ;  the  only  reply  would  be 
a  nod  or  shrug  of.  the  shoulders  i  the  latter  being  divided  in 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  59 

mind  between  a  distaste  for  the  gasconading  spirit  of  his  com 
rade,  and  a  sovereign  contempt  for  the  inexperience  of  the 
young  rangers  in  all  that  he  considered  true  knowledge. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  SICK  CAMP.— THE  MARCH.— THE  DISABLED  HORSE.— OLD  RYAN 
AND  THE  STRAGGLERS.— SYMPTOMS  OF  CHANGE  OF  WEATHER, 
AND  CHANGE  OF  HUMORS. 

OCTOBER  18TH. — We  prepared  to  march  at  the  usual  hour, 
but  word  was  brought  to  the  Captain  that  three  of  the  rangers, 
who  had  been  attacked  with  the  measles,  were  unable  to  pro- 
ceed, and  that  another  one  was  missing.  The  last  was  an  old 
frontiersman,  by  the  name  of  Sawyer,  who  had  gained  years 
without  experience ;  and  having  sallied  forth  to  hunt,  on  the  pre- 
ceding day,  had  probably  lost  his  way  on  the  prairies.  A 
guard  of  ten  men  was,  therefore,  left  to  take  care  of  the  sick, 
and  wait  for  the  straggler.  If  the  former  recovered  sufficiently 
in  the  course  of  two  or  three  days,  they  were  to  rejoin  the 
main  body,  otherwise  to  be  escorted  back  to  the  garrison. 

Taking  our  leave  of  the  sick  camp,  we  shaped  our  course 
westward,  along  the  heads  of  small  streams,  all  wandering,  in 
deep  ravines,  towards  the  Red  Fork.  The  land  was  high  and 
undulating,  or  " rolling, " as  it  is  termed  in  the  West;  with  a 
poor  hungry  soil  mingled  with  the  sandstone,  which  is  unusal 
in  this  part  of  the  country,  and  checkered  with  harsh  forests  of 
post-oak  and  black-jack. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning,  I  received  a  lesson  on  the  im- 
portance of  being  chary  of  one's  steed  on  the  prairies.  The 
one  I  rode  surpassed  in  action  most  horses  of  the  troop,  and 
was  of  great  mettle  and  a  generous  spirit.  In  crossing  the 
deep  ravines,  he  would  scramble  up  the  steep  banks  like  a  cat, 
and  was  always  for  leaping  the  narrow  runs  of  water.  I  was 
not  aware  of  the  imprudence  of  indulging  him  in  such  exer- 
tions, until,  in  leaping  him  across  a  small  brook,  I  felt  him 
immediately  falter  beneath  me.  He  limped  forward  a  short 
distance,  but  soon  fell  stark  lame,  having  sprained  his  shoulder. 
What  was  to  be  done?  He  could  not  keep  up  with  the  troop, 
and  was  too  valuable  to  be  abandoned  on  the  prairie.  The 


60  ^   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

only  alternative  was  to  send  him  back  to  join  the  invalids  in 
the  sick  camp,  and  to  share  their  fortunes.  Nobody,  however, 
seemed  disposed  to  lead  him  back,  although  I  offered  a  liberal 
reward.  Either  the  stories  of  Tonish  about  the  Pawnees  had 
spread  an  apprehension  of  lurking  foes,  and  imminent  perils  on 
the  prairies ;  or  there  was  a  fear  of  missing  the  trail  and  getting 
lost.  At  length  two  young  men  stepped  forward  and  agreed 
to  go  in  company,  so  that,  should  they  be  benighted  on  the 
prairies,  there  might  be  one  to  watch  while  the  other  slept. 

The  horse  was  accordingly  consigned  to  their  care,  and  I 
looked  after  him  with  a  rueful  eye,  as  he  limped  off,  for  it 
seemed  as  if,  with  him,  all  strength  and  buoyancy  had  departed 
from  me. 

I  looked  round  for  a  steed  to  supply  his  place,  and  fixed  my 
eyes  upon  the  gallant  gray  which  I  had  transferred  at  the 
Agency  to  Tonish.  The  moment,  however,  that  I  hinted  about 
his  dismounting  and  taking  up  with  the  supernumerary  pony, 
the  little  varlet  broke  out  into  vociferous  remonstrances  and 
lamentations,  gasping  and  almost  strangling,  in  bis  eagerness 
to  give  vent  to  them.  I  saw  that  to  unhorse  him  would  be  to 
prostrate  his  spirit  and  cut  his  vanity  to  the  quick.  I  had  not 
the  heart  to  inflict  such  a  wound,  or  to  bring  down  the  poor 
devil  from  his  transient  vainglory ;  so  I  left  him  in  possession 
of  his  gallant  gray;  and  contented  myself  with  shifting  my 
saddle  to  the  jaded  pony. 

I  was  now  sensible  of  the  complete  reverse  to  which  a  horse- 
man is  exposed  on  the  prairies.  I  felt  how  completely  the 
spirit  of  the  rider  depended  upon  his  steed.  I  had  hitherto 
been  able  to  make  excursions  at  will  from  the  line,  and  to  gallop 
in  pursuit  of  any  object  of  interest  or  curiosity.  I  was  now 
reduced  to  the  tone  of  the  jaded  animal  I  bestrode,  and  doomed 
to  plod  on  patiently  and  slowly  after  my  file  leader.  Above  all, 
I  was  made  conscious  how  unwise  it  is,  on  expeditions  of  the 
kind,  where  a  man's  life  may  depend  upon  the  strength,  and 
speed,  and  freshness  of  his  horse,  to  task  the  generous  animal 
by  any  unnecessary  exertion  of  his  powers. 

I  have  observed  that  the  wary  and  experienced  huntsman 
and  traveller  of  the  prairies  is  always  sparing  of  his  horse, 
when  on  a  journey ;  never,  except  in  emergency,  putting  him 
off  of  a  walk.  The  regular  journeyings  of  frontiersmen  and  In- 
dians, when  on  a  long  march  seldom  exceed  above  fifteen  miles 
a  day,  and  are  generally  about  ten  or  twelve,  and  they  never 
indulge  in  capricious  galloping.  Many  of  those,  however,  with 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  Q\ 

whom  I  was  travelling  were  young  and  inexperienced,  and  full 
of  excitement  at  finding  themselves  in  a  country  abounding 
with  game.  It  was  impossible  to  retain  them  in  the  sobriety  of 
a  march,  or  to  keep  them  to  the  line.  As  we  broke  our  way 
through  the  coverts  and  ravines,  and  the  deer  started  up  and 
scampered  off  to  the  right  and  left,  the  rifle  balls  would  whiz 
after  them,  and  our  young  hunters  dash  off  in  pursuit.  At  one 
time  they  made  a  grand  burst  after  what  they  supposed  to  be 
a  gang  of  bears,  but  soon  pulled  up  on  discovering  them  to  be 
black  wolves,  prowling  in  company. 

After  a  march  of  about  twelve  miles  we  encamped,  a  little  after 
mid-day,  on  the  borders  of  a  brook  which  loitered  through  a 
deep  ravine.  In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  old  Ryan,  the 
Nestor  of  the  camp,  made  his  appearance,  followed  by  his  little 
band  of  stragglers.  He  was  greeted  with  joyful  acclamations, 
which  showed  the  estimation  in  which  he  was  held  by  his 
brother  woodmen.  The  little  band  came  laden  with  venison ; 
a  fine  haunch  of  which  the  veteran  hunter  laid,  as  a  present,  by 
the  Captain's  fire. 

Our  men,  Beatte  and  Tonish,  both  sallied  forth,  early  in  the 
afternoon,  to  hunt.  Towards  evening  the  former  returned, 
with  a  fine  buck  across  his  horse.  He  laid  it  down,  as  usual,  in 
silence,  and  proceeded  to  unsaddle  and  turn  his  horse  loose. 
Tonish  came  back  without  any  game,  but  with  much  more 
glory;  having  made  several  capital  shots,  though  unluckily 
the  wounded  deer  had  all  escaped  him. 

There  was  an  abundant  supply  of  meat  in  the  camp;  for, 
besides  other  game,  three  elk  had  been  killed.  The  wary  and 
veteran  woodmen  were  all  busy  jerking  meat,  against  a  time 
of  scarcity;  the  less  experienced  revelled  in  present  abund- 
ance, leaving  the  morrow  to  provide  for  itself. 

On  the  following  morning  (October  19th),  I  succeeded  in 
changing  my  pony  and  a  reasonable  sum  of  money  for  a 
strong  and  active  horse.  It  was  a  great  satisfaction  to  find 
myself  once  more  tolerably  well  mounted.  I  perceived,  how- 
ever, that  there  would  be  little  difficulty  in  making  a  selection 
from  among  the  troop,  for  the  rangers  had  all  that  propensity 
for  "swapping,"  or,  as  they  term  it,  "trading,"  which  per- 
vades the  West.  In  the  course  of  our  expedition,  there  was 
scarcely  a  horse,  rifle,  powder-horn,  or  blanket  that  did  not 
change  owners  several  times;  and  one  keen  "trader"  boasted 
of  having,  by  dint  of  frequent  bargains,  changed  a  bad  horse 
into  a  good  one,  and  put  a  hundred  dollars  in  hie  pocket. 


62  -4.   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

The  morning  was  lowering  and  sultry,  with  low  muttering 
of  distant  thunder.  The  change  of  weather  had  its  effect  upon 
the  spirits  of  the  troop.  The  camp  was  unusually  sober  and 
quiet ;  there  was  none  of  the  accustomed  farmyard  melody  of 
crowing  and  cackling  at  daybreak ;  none  of  the  bursts  of  mer- 
riment, the  loud  jokes  and  banterings,  that  had  commonly 
prevailed  during  the  bustle  of  equipment.  Now  and  ther 
might  be  heard  a  short  strain  of  a  song,  a  faint  laugh,  or  a  soli 
tary  whistle ;  but,  in  general,  every  one  went  silently  and  dog 
gedly  about  the  duties  of  the  camp,  or  the  preparations  for 
departure. 

When  the  time  arrived  to  saddle  and  mount,  five  horses  were 
reported  as  missing;  although  all  the  woods  and  thickets  had 
been  beaten  up  for  some  distance  round  the  camp.  Several 
rangers  were  dispatched  to  "skir"  the  country  round  in  quest 
of  them.  In  the  meantime,  the  thunder  continued  to  growl,  and 
we  had  a  passing  shower.  The  horses,  like  their  riders,  were 
affected  by  the  change  of  weather.  They  stood  here  and  there 
about  the  camp,  some  saddled  and  bridled,  others  loose,  but  all 
spiritless  and  dozing,  with  stooping  head,  one  hind  leg  partly 
drawn  up  so  as  to  rest  on  the  point  of  the  hoof,  and  the  whole 
hide  reeking  with  the  rain,  and  sending  up  wreaths  of  vapor. 
The  men,  too,  waited  in  listless  groups  the  return  of  their  com- 
rades who  had  gone  in  quest  of  the  horses ;  now  and  then  turn- 
ing up  an  anxious  eye  to  the  drifting  clouds,  which  boded  an 
approaching  storm.  Gloomy  weather  inspires  gloomy  thoughts. 
Some  expressed  fears  that  we  were  dogged  by  some  party  of 
Indians,  who  had  stolen  the  horses  in  the  night.  The  most 
prevalent  apprehension,  however,  was  that  they  had  returned 
on  their  traces  to  our  last  encampment,  or  had  started  off  on 
a  direct  line  for  Fort  Gibson.  In  this  respect,  the  instinct  of 
horses  is  said  to  resemble  that  of  the  pigeon.  They  will  strike 
for  home  by  a  direct  course,  passing  through  tracts  of  wilder- 
ness which  they  have  never  before  traversed. 

After  delaying  until  the  morning  was  somewhat  advanced,  a 
lieutenant  with  a  guard  was  appointed  to  await  the  return  of 
the  rangers,  and  we  set  off  on  our  day's  journey,  considerably 
reduced  in  numbers;  much,  as  I  thought,  to  the  discomposure 
of  some  of  the  troop,  who  intimated  that  we  might  prove  too 
weak-handed,  in  case  of  an  encounter  with  the  Pawnees. 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  63 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THUNDER-STORM  ON  THE   PRAIRIES. — THE   STORM   ENCAMPMENT. — 
NIGHT  SCENE.— INDIAN  STORIES.— A  FRIGHTENED  HORSE. 

OUR  march  for  a  part  of  the  day;  lay  a  little  to  the  south  of 
west,  through  straggling  forests  of  the  kind  of  low  scrubbed 
trees  already  mentioned,  called  "post-oaks"  and  "black-jacks." 
The  soil  of  these  "oak  barrens"  is  loose  and  unsound;  being 
little  better  at  times  than  a  mere  quicksand,  in  which,  in  rainy 
weather,  the  horse's  hoof  slips  from  side  to  side,  and  now  and 
then  sinks  in  a  rotten,  spongy  turf,  to  the  fetlock.  Such  was 
the  case  at  present  in  consequence  of  successive  thunder- 
showers,  through  which  we  draggled  along  in  dogged  silence. 
Several  deer  were  roused  by  our  approach,  and  scudded  across 
the  forest  glades;  but  no  one,  as  formerly,  broke  the  line  of 
march  to  pursue  them.  At  one  time,  we  passed  the  bones  and 
horns  of  a  buffalo,  and  at  another  time  a  buffalo  track,  not 
above  three  days  old.  These  signs  of  the  vicinity  of  this 
grand  game  of  the  prairies,  had  a  reviving  effect  on  the  spirits 
of  our  huntsmen ;  but  it  was  of  transient  duration. 

In  crossing  a  prairie  of  moderate  extent,  rendered  little  bet- 
ter than  a  slippery  bog  by  the  recent  showers,  we  were  over- 
taken by  a  violent  thunder-gust.  The  rain  came  rattling  upon 
us  in  torrents,  and  spattered  up  like  steam  along  the  ground ; 
the  whole  landscape  was  suddenly  wrapped  in  gloom  that  gave 
a  vivid  effect  to  the  intense  sheets  of  lightning,  while  the  thun- 
der seemed  to  burst  over  our  very  heads,  and  was  reverbe- 
rated by  the  groves  and  forests  that  checkered  and  skirted  the 
prairie.  Man  and  beast  were  so  pelted,  drenched,  and  con- 
founded, that  the  line  was  thrown  in  complete  confusion ;  some 
of  the  horses  were  so  frightened  as  to  be  almost  unmanage- 
able, and  our  scattered  cavalcade  looked  like  a  tempest- tossed 
fleet,  driven  hither  and  thither,  at  the  mercy  of  wind  and 
wave. 

At  length,  at  half-past  two  o'clock,  we  came  to  a  halt,  and 
gathering  together  our  forces,  encamped  in  an  open  and  lofty 
grove,  with  a  prairie  on  one  side  and  a  stream  on  the  other. 
The  forest  immediately  rang  with  the  sound  of  the  axe,  and 
the  crash  of  f ailing  trees.  Huge  fires  were  soon  blazing ;  blan- 
kets were  stretched  before  them,  by  way  of  tents ;  booths  were 
hastily  reared  of  bark  and  skins  \  every  fire  had  its  group 


64  ^   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

drawn  close  round  it,  drying  and  warming  themselves,  or  pre- 
paring a  comforting  meal.  Some  of  the  rangers  were  dis- 
charging and  cleaning  their  rifles,  which  had  been  exposed  to 
the  rain ;  while  the  horses,  relieved  from  their  saddles  and 
burdens,  rolled  in  the  wet  grass. 

The  showers  continued  from  time  to  time,  until  late  in  the 
evening.  Before  dark,  our  horses  were  gathered  in  and  teth- 
ered about  the  skirts  of  the  camp,  within  the  outposts,  through 
fear  of  Indian  prowlers,  who  are  apt  to  take  advantage  of 
stormy  nights  for  their  depredations  and  assaults.  As  the 
night  thickened,  the  huge  fires  became  more  and  more  lumi- 
nous ;  lighting  up  masses  of  the  overhanging  f  oliage,  and  leav- 
ing other  parts  of  the  grove  in  deep  gloom.  Every  fire  had  its 
goblin  group  around  it,  while  the  tethered  horses  were  dimly 
seen,  like  spectres,  among  the  thickets;  excepting  that  here 
and  there  a  gray  one  stood  out  in  bright  relief. 

The  grove,  thus  fitfully  lighted  up  by  the  ruddy  glare  of  the 
fires,  resembled  a  vast  leafy  dome,  walled  in  by  opaque  dark- 
ness ;  but  every  now  and  then  two  or  three  quivering  flashes 
of  lightning  in  quick  succession,  would  suddenly  reveal  a  vast 
champaign  country,  where  fields  and  forests,  and  running 
streams,  would  start,  as  it  were,  into  existence  for  a  few 
brief  seconds,  and,  before  the  eye  could  ascertain  them,  vanish 
again  into  gloom. 

A  thunder-storm  on  a  prairie,  as  upon  the  ocean,  derives 
grandeur  and  sublimity  from  the  wild  and  boundless  waste 
over  which  it  rages  and  bellows.  It  is  not  surprising  that 
these  awful  phenomena  of  nature  should  be  objects  of  super- 
stitious reverence  to  the  poor  savages,  and  that  they  should 
consider  the  thunder  the  angry  voice  of  the  Great  Spirit.  As 
our  half-breeds  sat  gossiping  round  the  fire,  I  drew  from  them 
some  of  the  notions  entertained  on  the  subject  by  their  Indian 
friends.  The  latter  declare  that  extinguished  thunderbolts  are 
sometimes  picked  up  by  hunters  on  the  prairies,  who  use  them 
for  the  heads  of  arrows  and  lances,  and  that  any  warrior  thus 
armed  is  invincible.  Should  a  thunder-storm  occur,  however, 
during  battle,  he  is  liable  to  be  carried  away  by  the  thunder, 
and  never  heard  of  more. 

A  warrior  of  the  Konza  tribe,  hunting  on  a  prairie,  was 
overtaken  by  a  storm,  and  struck  down  senseless  by  the 
thunder.  On  recovering,  he  beheld  the  thunderbolt  lying  on 
the  ground,  and  a  horse  standing  beside  it.  Snatching  up  the 
bolt,  he  sprang  upon  the  horse,  but  found,  too  late,  that  he 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  65 

was  astride  of  the  lightning.  In  an  instant  he  was  whisked 
away  over  prairies  and  forests,  and  streams  and  deserts,  until 
he  was  flung  senseless  at  the  foot  of  the  Rocky  Mountains; 
whence,  on  recovering,  it  took  him  several  months  to  return 
to  his  own  people. 

This  story  reminded  me  of  an  Indian  tradition,  related  by  a 
traveller,  of  the  fate  of  a  warrior  who  saw  the  thunder  lying 
upon  the  ground,  with  a  beautifully  wrought  moccason  on 
each  side  of  it.  Thinking  he  had  found  a  prize,  he  put  on  the 
moccasons;  but  they  bore  him  away  to  the  land  of  spirits, 
whence  he  never  returned. 

These  are  simple  and  artless  tales,  but  they  had  a  wild  and 
romantic  interest  heard  from  the  lips  of  half -savage  narrators, 
round  a  hunter's  fire,  on  a  stormy  night,  with  a  forest  on  one 
side,  and  a  howling  waste  on  the  other ;  and  where,  peradven- 
ture,  savage  foes  might  be  lurking  in  the  outer  darkness. 

Our  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  clap  of  thunder, 
followed  immediately  by  the  sound  of  a  horse  galloping  off 
madly  into  the  waste.  Every  one  listened  in  mute  silence. 
The  hoofs  resounded  vigorously  for  a  time,  but  grew  fainter 
and  fainter,  until  they  died  away  in  remote  distance. 

When  the  sound  was  no  longer  to  be  heard,  the  listeners 
turned  to  conjecture  what  could  have  caused  this  sudden 
scamper.  Some  thought  the  horse  had  been  startled  by  the 
thunder;  others,  that  some  lurking  Indian  had  galloped  off 
with  him.  To  this  it  was  objected,  that  the  usual  mode  with 
the  Indians  is  to  steal  quietly  upon  the  horse,  take  off  his 
fetters,  mount  him  gently,  and  walk  him  off  as  silently  as  pos- 
sible, leading  off  others,  without  any  unusual  stir  or  noise  to 
disturb  the  camp. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  was  stated  as  a  common  practice  with 
the  Indians,  to  creep  among  a  troop  of  horses  when  grazing  at 
night,  mount  one  quietly,  and  then  start  off  suddenly  at  full 
speed.  Nothing  is  so  contagious  among  horses  as  a  panic:  one 
sudden  break-away  of  this  kind,  will  sometimes  alarm  the 
whole  troop,  and  they  will  set  off,  helter-skelter,  after  the 
leader. 

Every  one  who  had  a  horse  grazing  on  the  skirts  of  the 
camp  was  uneasy,  lest  his  should  be  the  fugitive ;  but  it  was 
impossible  to  ascertain  the  fact  until  morning,  Those  who 
had  tethered  their  horses  felt  more  secure;  though  horses 
thus  tied  up,  and  limited  to  a  short  range  at  night,  are  apt 
to  fall  off  in  flesh  and  strength,  during  a  long  march;  and 


66  ^   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES, 

many  of  the  horses  of  the  troop  already  gave  signs  of  being 
wayworn. 

After  a  gloomy  and  unruly  night,  the  morning  dawned 
bright  and  clear,  and  a  glorious  sunrise  transformed  the  whole 
landscape,  as  if  by  magic.  The  late  dreary  wilderness  bright- 
ened into  a  fine  open  country,  with  stately  groves,  and  clumps 
of  oaks  of  a  gigantic  size,  some  of  which  stood  singly,  as  if 
planted  for  ornament  and  shade,  in  the  midst  of  rich  meadows; 
while  our  horses,  scattered  about,  and  grazing  under  them, 
gave  to  the  whole  the  air  of  a  noble  park.  It  was  difficult  to 
realize  the  fact  that  we  were  so  far  in  the  wilds  beyond  the 
residence  of  man.  Our  encampment,  alone,  had  a  savage 
appearance ;  with  its  rude  tents  of  skins  and  blankets,  and  its 
columns  of  blue  smoke  rising  among  the  trees. 

The  first  care  in  the  morning,  was  to  look  after  our  horses. 
Some  of  them  had  wandered  to  a  distance,  but  all  were  fortu- 
nately found ;  even  the  one  whose  clattering  hoofs  had  caused 
such  uneasiness  in  the  night.  He  had  come  to  a  halt  about  a 
mile  from  the  camp,  and  was  found  quietly  grazing  near  a 
brook.  The  bugle  sounded  for  departure  about  half  past  eight. 
As  we  were  in  greater  risk  of  Indian  molestation  the  farther 
we  advanced,  our  line  was  formed  with  more  precision  than 
heretofore.  Every  one  had  his  station  assigned  him,  and  was 
forbidden  to  leave  it  in  pursuit  of  game,  without  special  per- 
mission. The  pack-horses  were  placed  in  the  centre  of  the 
line,  and  a  strong  guard  in  the  rear. 


CHAPTEE  XVHL 

A    GRAND     PRAIRIE.— CLIFF     CASTLE. —BUFFALO    TRACKS.— 
HUNTED  BY  WOLVES. — CROSS  TIMBER. 

AFTER  a  toilsome  march  of  some  distance  through  a  country 
cut  up  by  ravines  and  brooks,  and  entangled  by  thickets,  we 
emerged  upon  a  grand  prairie.  Here  one  of  the  characteristic 
scenes  of  the  Far  West  broke  upon  us.  An  immense  extent  of 
grassy,  undulating,  or,  as  it  is  termed,  rolling  country,  with 
here  and  there  a  clump  of  trees,  dimly  seen  in  the  distance 
like  a  ship  at  sea;  the  landscape  deriving  sublimity  from  its 
vastness  and  simplicity.  To  the  southwest,  on  the  summit  of 


A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  67 

a  hill,  was  a  singular  crest  of  broken  rocks,  resembling  a 
rained  fortress.  It  reminded  me  of  the  ruin  of  some  Moorish 
castle,  crowning  a  height  in  the  midst  of  a  lonely  Spanish 
landscape.  To  this  hill  we  gave  the  name  of  Cliff  Castle. 

The  prairies  of  these  great  hunting  regions  differed  in  the 
character  of  their  vegetation  from  those  through  whick  I  had 
hitherto  passed.  Instead  of  a  profusion  of  tall  flowering 
plants  and  long  flaunting  grasses,  they  were  covered  with 
a  shorter  growth  of  herbage  called  buffalo  grass,  somewhat 
coarse,  but,  at  the  proper  seasons,  affording  excellent  and 
abundant  pasturage.  At  present  it  was  growing  wiry,  and  in 
many  places  was  too  much  parched  for  grazing. 

The  weather  was  verging  into  that  serene  but  somewhat 
arid  season  called  the  Indian  Summer.  There  was  a  smoky 
haze  in  the  atmosphere  that  tempered  the  brightness  of  the 
sunshine  into  a  golden  tint,  softening  the  features  of  the  land- 
scape, and  giving  a  vagueness  to  the  outlines  of  distant 
objects.  This  haziness  was  daily  increasing,  and  was  attri- 
buted to  the  burning  of  distant  prairies  by  the  Indian  hunting 
parties. 

We  had  not  gone  far  upon  the  prairie  before  we  came  to 
where  deeply  worn  footpaths  were  seen  traversing  the  country: 
sometimes  two  or  three  would  keep  on  parallel  to  each  other, 
and  but  a  few  paces  apart.  These  were  pronounced  to  be 
traces  of  buffaloes,  where  large  droves  had  passed.  There 
were  tracks  also  of  horses,  which  were  observed  with  some 
attention  by  our  experienced  hunters.  They  could  not  be  the 
tracks  of  wild  horses,  as  there  were  no  prints  of  the  hoofs  of 
colts ;  all  were  full-grown.  As  the  horses  evidently  were  not 
shod,  it  was  concluded  they  must  belong  to  some  hunting 
party  of  Pawnees.  In  the  course  of  the  morning,  the  tracks 
of  a  single  horse,  with  shoes,  were  discovered.  This  might  be 
the  horse  of  a  Cherokee  hunter,  or  perhaps  a  horse  stolen  from 
the  whites  of  the  frontier.  Thus,  in  traversing  these  perilous 
wastes,  every  footprint  and  dint  of  hoof  becomes  matter  of 
cautious  inspection  and  shrewd  surmise ;  and  the  question  con- 
tinually is,  whether  it  be  the  trace  of  friend  or  foe,  whether  of 
recent  or  ancient  date,  and  whether  the  being  that  made  it  be 
out  of  reach,  or  liable  to  be  encountered. 

We  were  getting  more  and  more  into  the  game  country:  as 
we  proceeded,  we  repeatedly  saw  deer  to  the  right  and  left, 
bounding  off  for  the  coverts ;  but  their  appearance  no  longer 
excited  the  same  eagerness  to  pursue.  In  passing  along  a 


68  A  TOUR  ON  TEE  PRAIRIES. 

elope  of  the  prairie,  between  two  rolling  swells  of  land,  we 
came  in  sight  of  a  genuine  natural  hunting  match.  A  pack  ol 
seven  black  wolves  and  one  white  one  were  in  full  chase  of  a 
buck,  which  they  had  nearly  tired  down.  They  crossed  the 
line  of  our  march  without  apparently  perceiving  us ;  we  saw 
them  have  a  fair  run  of  nearly  a  mile,  gaining  upon  the  ouck 
until  they  were  leaping  upon  his  haunches,  when  he  plunged 
down  a  ravine.  Some  of  our  party  galloped  to  a  rising  ground 
commanding  a  view  of  the  ravine.  The  poor  buck  was  com- 
pletely beset,  some  on  his  flanks,  some  at  his  throat:  he  made 
two  or  three  struggles  and  desperate  bounds,  but  was  dragged 
down,  overpowered,  and  torn  to  pieces.  The  black  wolves,  in 
their  ravenous  hunger  and  fury,  took  no  notice  of  the  distant 
group  of  horsemen;  but  the  white  wolf,  apparently  less  game, 
abandoned  the  prey,  and  scampered  over  hill  and  dale,  rousing 
various  deer  that  were  crouched  in  the  hollows,  and  which 
bounded  off  likewise  in  different  directions.  It  was  altogether 
a  wild  scene,  worthy  of  the  "hunting  grounds." 

We  now  came  once  more  in  sight  of  the  Eed  Fork,  winding 
its  turbid  course  between  well- wooded  hills,  and  through  a 
vast  and  magnificent  landscape.  The  prairies  bordering  on 
the  rivers  are  always  varied  in  this  way  with  woodland,  so 
beautifully  interspersed  as  to  appear  to  have  been  laid  out  by 
the  hand  of  taste ;  and  they  only  want  here  and  there  a  village 
spire,  the  battlements  of  a  castle,  or  the  turrets  of  an  old 
family  mansion  rising  from  among  the  trees,  to  rival  the  most 
ornamented  scenery  of  Europe. 

About  midday  we  reached  the  edge  of  that  scattered  belt  of 
forest  land,  about  forty  miles  in  width,  which  stretches  across 
the  country  from  north  to  south,  from  the  Arkansas  to  the 
Eed  River,  separating  the  upper  from  the  lower  prairies,  and 
commonly  called  the  "Cross  Timber."  On  the  skirts  of  this 
forest  land,  just  on  the  edge  of  a  prairie,  we  found  traces  of  a 
Pawnee  encampment  of  between  one  and  two  hundred  lodges, 
showing  that  the  party  must  have  been  numerous.  The  skull 
of  a  buffalo  lay  near  the  camp,  and  the  moss  which  had  gath- 
ered on  it  proved  that  the  encampment  was  at  least  a  year  old. 
About  half  a  mile  off  we  encamped  in  a  beautiful  grove, 
watered  by  a  fine  spring  and  rivulet.  Our  day's  journey  had 
been  about  fourteen  miles. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  we  were  rejoined  by  two  of 
Lieutenant  King's  party,  which  we  had  left  behind  a  few  days 
before,  to  look  after  stray  horses.  All  the  horses  had  been 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  69 

found,  though  some  had  wandered  to  the  distance  of  several 
miles.  The  lieutenant,  with  seventeen  of  his  companions,  had 
rqmained  at  our  last  night's  encampment  to  hunt,  having  come 
upon  recent  traces  of  buffalo.  They  had  also  seen  a  fine  wild 
horse,  which,  however,  had  galloped  off  with  a  speed  that 
defied  pursuit. 

Confident  anticipations  were  now  indulged,  that  on  the  fol- 
lowing day  we  should  meet  with  buffalo,  and  perhaps  with 
wild  horses,  and  every  one  was  in  spirits.  We  needed  some 
excitement  of  the  kind,  for  our  young  men  were  growing 
weary  of  marching  and  encamping  under  restraint,  and  pro- 
visions this  day  were  scanty.  The  Captain  and  several  of  the 
rangers  went  out  hunting,  but  brought  home  nothing  but  a 
small  deer  and  a  few  turkeys.  Our  two  men,  Beatte  and 
Tonish,  likewise  went  out.  The  former  returned  with  a  deer 
athwart  his  horse,  which,  as  usual,  he  laid  down  by  our  lodge, 
and  said  nothing.  Tonish  returned  with  no  game,  but  with 
his  customary  budget  of  wonderful  tales.  Both  he  and  the 
deer  had  done  marvels.  Not  one  had  come  within  the  lure  of 
his  rifle  without  being  hit  in  a  mortal  part,  yet,  strange  to  say, 
every  one  had  kept  on  his  way  without  flinching.  We  all 
determined  that,  from  the  accuracy  of  his  aim,  Tonish  must 
have  shot  with  charmed  balls,  but  that  every  deer  had  a 
charmed  life.  The  most  important  intelligence  brought  by 
him,  however,  was,  that  he  had  seen  the  fresh  tracks  of 
several  wild  horses.  He  now  considered  himself  upon  the 
eve  of  great  exploits,  for  there  was  nothing  upon  which  he 
glorified  himself  more  than  his  skill  in  horse-catching. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

HUNTERS'  ANTICIPATIONS.— THE  RUGGED  FORD.— A  WILD  HORSE. 

OCTOBER  21ST. — This  morning  the  camp  was  in  a  bustle  at  an 
early  hour :  the  expectation  of  falling  in  with  buffalo  in  the 
course  of  the  day  roused  every  one's  spirit.  There  was  a 
continual  cracking  of  rifles,  that  they  might  be  reloaded: 
the  shot  was  drawn  off  from  double-barrelled  guns,  and  balls 
were  substituted.  Tonish,  however,  prepared  chiefly  for  a 
campaign  against  wild  horses.  He  took  the  field,  with  a  coil 
of  cordage  hung  at  his  saddle-bow,  and  a  couple  of  white 


70  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

wands,  something  like  fishing-rods  eight  or  ten  feet  in  length, 
with  forked  ends.  The  coil  of  cordage  thus  used  in  hunting 
the  wild  horse,  is  called  a  lariat,  and  answers  to  the  lasso  of 
South  America.  It  is  not  flung,  however,  in  the  graceful  and 
dexterous  Spanish  style.  The  hunter  after  a  hard  chase,  when 
he  succeeds  in  getting  almost  head  and  head  with  the  wild 
horse,  hitches  the  running  noose  of  the  lariat  over  his  head  by 
means  of  the  forked  stick;  then  letting  him  have  the  full 
length  of  the  cord,  plays  him  like  a  fish,  and  chokes  him  into 
subjection. 

All  this  Tonish  promised  to  exemplify  to  our  full  satisfac- 
tion; we  had  not  much  confidence  in  his  success,  and  feared 
he  might  knock  up  a  good  horse  in  a  headlong  gallop  after 
a  bad  one,  for,  like  all  the  French  Creoles,  he  was  a  merciless 
hard  rider.  It  was  determined,  therefore,  to  keep  a  sharp  eye 
upon  him,  and  to  check  his  sallying  propensities. 

We  had  not  proceeded  far  on  our  morning's  march,  when  we 
were  checked  by  a  deep  stream,  running  along  the  bottom  of  a 
thickly  wooded  ravine.  After  coasting  it  for  a  couple  of  miles, 
we  came  to  a  fording  place;  but  to  get  down  to  it  was  the 
difficulty,  for  the  banks  were  steep  and  crumbling,  and  over- 
grown with  forest  trees,  mingled  with  thickets,  brambles,  and 
grape-vines.  At  length  the  leading  horseman  broke  his  way 
through  the  thicket,  and  his  horse,  putting  his  feet  together, 
slid  down  the  black  crumbling  bank,  to  the  narrow  margin  of 
the  stream ;  then  floundering  across,  with  mud  and  water  up 
to  the  saddle-girths,  he  scrambled  up  the  opposite  bank,  and 
arrived  safe  on  level  ground.  The  whole  line  followed  pell- 
mell  after  the  leader,  and  pushing  forward  in  close  order, 
Indian  file,  they  crowded  each  other  down  the  bank  and  into 
the  stream.  Some  of  the  horsemen  missed  the  ford,  and  were 
soused  over  head  and  ears;  one  was  unhorsed,  and  plumped 
head  foremost  into  the  middle  of  the  stream:  for  my  own 
part,  while  pressed  forward,  and  hurried  over  the  bank  by 
those  behind  me,  I  was  interrupted  by  a  grape-vine,  as  thick  as 
a  cable,  which  hung  in  a  festoon  as  low  as  the  saddle-bow,  and 
dragging  me  from  the  saddle,  threw  me  among  the  feet  of  the 
trampling  horses.  Fortunately,  I  escaped  without  injury, 
regained  my  steed,  crossed  the  stream  without  further  diffi- 
culty, and  was  enabled  to  join  in  the  merriment  occasioned  by 
the  ludicrous  disasters. 

It  is  at  passes  like  this  that  occur  the  most  dangerous  ambus- 
cades and  sanguinary  surprises  of  Indian  warfare.  A  party  of 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAHtlES.  71 

savages  well  placed  among  the  thickets,  might  have  made  sad 
havoc  among  our  men,  while  entangled  in  the  ravine. 

We  now  came  out  upon  a  vast  and  glorious  prairie,  spreading 
out  beneath  the  golden  beams  of  an  autumnal  sun.  The  deep 
and  frequent  traces  of  buffalo,  showed  it  to  be  one  of  their 
favorite  grazing  grounds,  yet  none  were  to  be  seen.  In  the 
course  of  the  morning;  we  were  overtaken  by  the  lieutenant 
and  seventeen  men,  who  had  remained  behind,  and  who  came 
laden  with  the  spoils  of  buffaloes ;  having  killed  three  on  the 
preceding  day.  One  of  the  rangers,  however,  had  little  luck 
to  boast  of;  his  horse  having  taken  fright  at- sight  of  the 
buffaloes,  thrown  his  rider,  and  escaped  into  the  woods. 

The  excitement  of  our  hunters,  both  young  and  old,  now  rose 
almost  to  fever  height ;  scarce  any  of  them  having  ever  encoun- 
tered any  of  this  far-famed  game  of  the  prairies.  Accord- 
ingly, when  in  the  course  of  the  day  the  cry  of  buffalo !  buffalo ! 
rose  from  one  part  of  the  line,  the  whole  troop  were  thrown  in 
agitation.  We  were  just  then  passing  through  a  beautiful 
part  of  the  prairie,  finely  diversified  by  hills  and  slopes,  and 
woody  dells,  and  high,  stately  groves.  Those  who  had  given 
the  alarm,  pointed  out  a  large  black-looking  animal,  slowly 
moving  along  the  side  of  a  rising  ground,  about  two  miles  off. 
The  ever-ready  Tonish  jumped  up,  and  stood  with  his  feet  on 
the  saddle,  and  his  forked  sticks  in  his  hands,  like  a  posture- 
master  or  scaramouch  at  a  circus,  just  ready  for  a  feat  of 
horsemanship.  After  gazing  at  the  animal  for  a  moment, 
which  he  could  have  seen  full  as  well  without  rising  from  his 
stirrups,  he  pronounced  it  a  wild  horse;  and  dropping  again 
into  his  saddle,  was  about  to  dash  off  full  tilt  in  pursuit, 
when,  to  his  inexpressible  chagrin,  he  was  called  back,  and 
ordered  to  keep  to  his  post,  in  rear  of  the  baggage  horses. 

The  Captain  and  two  of  his  officers  now  set  off  to  recon- 
noitre the  game.  It  was  the  intention  of  the  Captain,  who  was 
an  admirable  marksman,  to  endeavor  to  crease  the  horse ;  that 
is  to  say,  to  hit  him  with  a  rifle  ball  in  the  ridge  of  the  neck. 
A  wound  of  this  kind  paralyzes  a  horse  for  a  moment ;  he  falls 
to  the  ground,  and  may  be  secured  before  he  recovers.  It  is  a 
cruel  expedient,  however,  for  an  ill-directed  shot  may  kill 
or  maim  the  noble  animal. 

As  the  Captain  and  his  companions  moved  off  laterally  and 
slowly,  in  the  direction  of  the  horse,  we  continued  our  course 
forward;  watching  intently,  however,  the  movements  of  the 
game.  The  horse  moved  quietly  over  the  profile  of  the  rising 


72  A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

ground,  and  disappeared  behind  it.  The  Captain  and  his  party 
were  likewise  soon  hidden  by  an  intervening  hill. 

After  a  time,  the  horse  suddenly  made  his  appearance  to  our 
right,  just  ahead  of  the  line,  emerging  out  of  a  small  valley,  on 
a  brisk  trot;  having  evidently  taken  the  alarm.  At  sight  of  us 
he  stopped  short,  gazed  at  us  for  an  instant  with  surprise,  then 
tossing  up  his  head,  trotted  off  in  fine  style,  glancing  at  us  first 
over  one  shoulder,  then  over  the  other,  his  ample  mane  and 
tail  streaming  in  the  wind.  Having  dashed  through  a  skirt  of 
thicket,  that  looked  like  a  hedge-row,  he  paused  in  the  open 
field  beyond,  glanced  back  at  us  again,  with  a  beautiful  bend 
of  the  neck,  snuffed  the  air,  then  tossing  his  head  again,  broke 
into  a  gallop,  and  took  refuge  in  a  wood. 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  seen  a  horse  scouring  his 
native  wilderness  in  all  the  pride  and  freedom  of  his  nature. 
How  different  from  the  poor,  mutilated,  harnessed,  checked, 
reined-up  victim  of  luxury,  caprice,  and  avarice,  in  our 
cities ! 

After  travelling  about  fifteen  miles,  we  encamped  about  one 
o'clock,  tnat  our  hunters  might  have  time  to  procure  a  supply 
of  provisions.  Our  encampment  was  in  a  spacious  grove  of 
lofty  oaks  and  walnuts,  free  from  underwood,  on  the  border 
of  a  brook.  While  unloading  the  pack-horses,  our  little 
Frenchman  was  loud  in  his  complaints  at  having  been  pre- 
vented from  pursuing  the  wild  horse,  which  he  would  certainly 
have  taken.  In  the  meantime,  I  saw  our  half-breed,  Beatte, 
quietly  saddle  his  best  horse,  a  powerful  steed  of  half -savage 
race,  hang  a  lariat  at  the  saddle-bow,  take  a  rifle  and  forked 
stick  in  hand,  and,  mounting,  depart  from  the  camp  without 
saying  a  word.  It  was  evident  he  was  going  off  in  quest  of  the 
wild  horse,  but  was  disposed  to  hunt  alone. 


CHAPTER  XX. 
THE  CAMP  OF  THE  WILD  HORSE, 

HUHTERS'    STORIES.— HABITS    OF   THE    WILD    HORSE.— THE    HALF- 
BREED  AND  HIS  PRIZE. — A  HORSE  CHASE. — A  WILD  SPIRIT  TAMED. 

WE  had  encamped  in  a  good  neighborhood  for  game,  aa 
the  reports  of  rules  in  various  directions  speedily  gave  notice 


A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  73 

One  of  our  hunters  soon  returned  with  the  meat  of  a  doe,  tied 
up  in  the  skin,  and  slung  across  his  shoulders.  Another 
brought  a  fat  buck  across  his  horse.  Two  other  deer  were 
brought  in,  and  a  number  of  turkeys.  All  the  game  was 
thrown  down  in  front  of  the  Captain's  fire,  to  be  portioned 
out  among  the  various  messes.  The  spits  and  camp  kettles 
were  soon  in  full  employ,  and  throughout  the  evening  there 
was  a  scene  of  hunters'  feasting  and  profusion. 

"We  had  been  disappointed  this  day  in  our  hopes  of  meeting 
with  buffalo,  but  the  sight  of  the  wild  horse  had  been  a  great 
aovelty,  and  gave  a  turn  to  the  conversation  of  the  camp  for 
the  evening.  There  were  several  anecdotes  told  of  a  famous 
gray  horse,  which  has  ranged  the  prairies  of  this  neighborhood 
for  six  or  seven  years,  setting  at  naught  every  attempt  of  the 
hunters  to  capture  him.  They  say  he  can  pace  and  rack  (or 
amble)  faster  than  the  fleetest  horses  can  run.  Equally  mar- 
vellous accounts  were  given  of  a  black  horse  on  the  Brazos, 
who  grazed  the  prairies  on  that  river's  banks  in  Texas.  For 
years  he  outstripped  all  pursuit.  His  fame  spread  far  and 
wide ;  offers  were  made  for  him  to  the  amount  of  a  thousand 
dollars;  the  boldest  and  most  hard-riding  hunters  tried  in- 
cessantly to  make  prize  of  him,  but  in  vain.  At  length  he 
fell  a  victim  to  his  gallantry,  being  decoyed  under  a  tree  by 
a  tame  mare,  and  a  noose  dropped  over  his  head  by  a  boy 
perched  among  the  branches. 

The  capture  of  a  wild  horse  is  one  of  the  most  favorite 
achievements  of  the  prairie  tribes ;  and,  indeed,  it  is  from  this 
source  that  the  Indian  hunters  chiefly  supply  themselves. 
The  wild  horses  which  range  those  vast  grassy  plains,  extend- 
ing from  the  Arkansas  to  the  Spanish  settlements,  are  of 
various  forms  and  colors,  betraying  their  various  descents. 
Some  resemble  the  common  English  stock,  and  are  probably 
descended  from  horses  which  have  escaped  from  our  border 
settlements.  Others  are  of  a  low  but  strong  make,  and  are 
supposed  to  be  of  the  Andalusian  breed,  brought  out  by  the 
Spanish  discoverers. 

Some  fanciful  speculatists  have  seen  in  them  descendants  of 
the  Aral  stock,  brought  into  Spain  from  Africa,  and  thence 
transferred  to  this  country ;  and  have  pleased  themselves  with 
the  idea,  that  their  sires  may  have  been  of  the  pure  coursers  of 
the  desert,  that  once  bore  Mahomet  and  his  warlike  disciples 
across  the  sandy  plains  of  Arabia. 

The  habits  of  the  Arab  seem  to  have  come  with  the  steed. 


74  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

The  introduction  of  the  horse  on  the  boundless  prairies  of  the 
Far  West,  changed  the  whole  mode  of  living  of  their  inhabi- 
tants. It  gave  them  that  facility  of  rapid  motion,  and  of  sud- 
den and  distant  change  of  place,  so  dear  to  the  roving  propen- 
sities of  man.  Instead  of  lurking  in  the  depths  of  gloomy 
forests,  and  patiently  threading  the  mazes  of  a  tangled  wilder- 
ness on  foot,  like  his  brethren  of  the  north,  the  Indian  of  the 
West  is  a  rover  of  the  plain;  he  leads  a  brighter  and  more 
sunshiny  life;  almost  always  on  horseback,  on  vast  flowery 
prairies  and  under  cloudless  skies. 

I  was  lying  by  the  Captain's  fire,  late  in  the  evening,  lis- 
tening to  stories  about  those  coursers  of  the  prairies,  and 
weaving  speculations  of  my  own,  when  there  was  a  clamor  of 
voices  and  a  loud  cheering  at  the  other  end  of  the  camp ;  and 
Word  was  passed  that  Beatte,  the  half-breed,  had  brought  in  a 
wild  horse. 

In  an  instant  every  fire  was  deserted;  the  whole  camp 
crowded  to  see  the  Indian  and  his  prize.  It  was  a  colt  about 
two  years  old,  well  grown,  finely  limbed,  with  bright  promi- 
nent eyes,  and  a  spirited  yet  gentle  demeanor.  He  gazed 
about  him  with  an  air  of  mingled  stupefaction  and  surprise, 
at  the  men,  the  horses,  and  the  camp-fires;  while  the  Indian 
stood  before  him  with  folded  arms,  having  hold  of  the  other 
end  of  the  cord  which  noosed  his  captive,  and  gazing  on  him 
with  a  most  imperturbable  aspect.  Beatte,  as  I  have  before 
observed,  has  a  greenish  olive  complexion,  with  a  strongly 
marked  countenance,  not  unlike  the  bronze  casts  of  Napoleon ; 
and  as  he  stood  before  his  captive  horse,  with  folded  arms  and 
fixed  aspect,  he  looked  more  like  a  statue  than  a  man. 

If  the  horse,  however,  manifested  the  least  restiveness, 
Beatte  would  immediately  worry  him  with  the  lariat,  jerking 
him  first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other,  so  as  almost  to  throw 
him  on  the  ground ;  when  he  had  thus  rendered  him  passive, 
he  would  resume  his  statue-like  attitude  and  gaze  at  him  in 
silence. 

The  whole  scene  was  singularly  wild;  the  tall  grove,  par- 
tially illumined  by  the  flashing  fires  of  the  camp,  the  horses 
tethered  here  and  there  among  the  trees,  the  carcasses  of  deer 
hanging  around,  and  in  the  midst  of  all,  the  wild  huntsman 
and  his  wild  horse,  with  an  admiring  throng  of  rangers, 
almost  as  wild. 

In  the  eagerness  of  their  excitement,  several  of  the  young 
rangers  sought  to  get  the  horse  by  purchase  or  barter,  and! 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  75 

even  offered  extravagant  terms ;  but  Beatte  declined  all  their 
offers.  "You  give  great  price  now;"  said  he,  "  to-morrow  you 
be  sorry,  and  take  back,  and  say  d— d  Indian !" 

The  young  men  importuned  him  with  questions  about  the 
mode  in  which  he  took  the  horse,  but  his  answers  were  dry 
and  laconic ;  he  evidently  retained  some  pique  at  having  been 
undervalued  and  sneered  at  by  them;  and  at  the  same  time 
looked  down  upon  them  with  contempt  as  greenhorns,  little 
versed  in  the  noble  science  of  woodcraft. 

Afterward,  however,  when  he  was  seated  by  our  fire,  I  read- 
ily drew  from  him  an  account  of  his  exploit;  for,  though 
taciturn  among  strangers,  and  little  prone  to  boast  of  his 
actions,  yet  his  taciturnity,  like  that  of  all  Indians,  had  its 
times  of  relaxation. 

He  informed  me,  that  on  leaving  the  camp,  he  had  returned 
to  the  place  where  we  had  lost  sight  of  the  wild  horse.  Soon 
getting  upon  its  track,  he  followed  it  to  the  banks  of  the  river. 
Here,  the  prints  being  more  distinct  in  the  sand,  he  perceived 
that  one  of  the  hoofs  was  broken  and  defective,  so  he  gave  up 
the  pursuit. 

As  he  was  returning  to  the  camp,  he  came  upon  a  gang  of 
six  horses,  which  immediately  made  for  the  river.  He  pur- 
sued them  across  the  stream,  left  his  rifle  on  the  river  bank, 
and  putting  his  horse  to  full  speed,  soon  came  up  with  the 
fugitives.  He  attempted  to  noose  one  of  them,  but  the  lariat 
hitched  on  one  of  his  ears,  and  he  shook  it  off.  The  horses 
dashed  up  a  hill,  he  followed  hard  at  their  heels,  when,  of  a 
sudden,  he  saw  their  tails  whisking  in  the  air,  and  they 
plunging  down  a  precipice.  It  was  too  late  to  stop.  He  shut 
his  eyes,  held  in  his  breath,  and  went  over  with  them — neck 
or  nothing.  The  descent  was  between  twenty  and  thirty  feet, 
but  they  all  came  down  safe  upon  a  sandy  bottom. 

He  now  succeeded  in  throwing  his  noose  round  a  fine  young 
horse.  As  he  galloped  alongside  of  him,  the  two  horses  passed 
each  side  of  a  sapling,  and  the  end  of  the  lariat  was  jerked  out 
of  his  hand.  He  regained  it,  but  an  intervening  tree  obliged 
him  again  to  let  it  go.  Having  once  more  caught  it,  and  com- 
ing to  a  more  open  country,  he  was  enabled  to  play  the  young 
horse  with  the  line  until  he  gradually  checked  and  subdued 
him,  so  as  to  lead  him  to  the  place  where  he  had  left  his  rifle. 

He  had  another  formidable  difficulty  in  getting  him  across 
the  river,  where  both  horses  stuck  for  a  time  in  the  mire,  and 
Beatte  was  nearly  unseated  from  his  saddle  by  the  force  of  the 


76  -A    TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

current  and  the  struggles  of  his  captive.  After  much  toil  and 
trouble,  however,  he  got  across  the  stream,  and  brought  his 
prize  safe  into  camp. 

For  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  the  camp  remained  in  a 
high  state  of  excitement ;  nothing  was  talked  of  but  the  cap- 
ture of  wild  horses ;  every  youngster  of  the  troop  was  for  this 
harum-scarum  kind  of  chase ;  every  one  promised  himself  to 
return  from  the  campaign  in  triumph,  bestriding  one  of  these 
wild  coursers  of  the  prairies.  Beatte  had  suddenly  risen  to 
great  importance ;  he  was  the  prime  hunter,  the  hero  of  the 
day.  Offers  were  made  him  by  the  best  mounted  rangers, 
to  let  him  ride  their  horses  in  the  chase,  provided  he  would 
give  them  a  share  of  the  spoil.  Beatte  bore  his  honors  in 
silence,  and  closed  with  none  of  the  offers.  Our  stammering, 
chattering,  gasconading  little  Frenchman,  however,  made  up 
for  his  taciturnity,  by  vaunting  as  much  upon  the  subject  as 
if  it  were  he  that  had  caught  the  horse.  Indeed  he  held  forth 
so  learnedly  in  the  matter,  and  boasted  so  much  of  the  many 
horses  he  had  taken,  that  he  began  to  be  considered  an  oracle ; 
and  some  of  the  youngsters  were  inclined  to  doubt  whether  he 
were  not  superior  even  to  the  taciturn  Beatte. 

The  excitement  kept  the  camp  awake  later  than  usual.  The 
hum  of  voices,  interrupted  by  occasional  peals  of  laughter,  was 
heard  from  the  groups  around  the  various  fires,  and  the  night 
was  considerably  advanced  before  all  had  sunk  to  sleep. 

With  the  morning  dawn  the  excitement  revived,  and  Beatte 
and  his  wild  horse  were  again  the  gaze  and  talk  of  the  camp. 
The  captive  had  been  tied  all  night  to  a  tree  among  the  other 
horses.  He  was  again  led  forth  by  Beatte,  by  a  long  halter  or 
lariat,  and,  on  his  manifesting  the  least  restiveness,  was,  as 
before,  jerked  and  worried  into  passive  submission.  He  ap- 
peared to  be  gentle  and  docile  by  nature,  and  had  a  beautifully 
mild  expression  of  the  eye.  In  his  strange  and  forlorn  situa- 
tion, the  poor  animal  seemed  to  seek  protection  and  companion- 
ship in  the  very  horse  which  had  aided  to  capture  him. 

Seeing  him  thus  gentle  and  tractable,  Beatte,  just  as  we  were 
about  to  march,  strapped  a  light  pack  upon  his  back,  by  way 
of  giving  him  the  first  lesson  in  servitude.  The  native  pride 
and  independence  of  the  animal  took  fire  at  this  indignity. 
He  reared,  and  plunged,  and  kicked,  and  tried  in  every  way  to 
get  rid  of  the  degrading  burden.  The  Indian  was  too  potent 
for  him.  At  every  paroxysm  he  renewed  the  discipline  of  the 
halter,  until  the  poor  animal,  driven  to  despair,  threw  himsell 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  77 

prostrate  on  the  ground,  and  lay  motionless,  as  if  acknowl- 
edging himself  vanquished.  A  stage  hero,  representing  the 
despair  of  a  captive  prince,  could  not  have  played  his  part 
more  dramatically.  There  was  absolutely  a  moral  grandeur 
in  it. 

The  imperturbable  Beatte  folded  his  arms,  and  stood  for  a 
time,  looking  down  in  silence  upon  his  captive;  until  seeing 
him  perfectly  subdued,  he  nodded  his  head  slowly,  screwed  his 
mouth  into  a  sardonic  smile  of  triumph,  and,  with  a  jerk  of 
the  halter,  ordered  him  to  rise.  He  obeyed,  and  from  that 
time  forward  offered  no  resistance.  During  that  day  he  bore 
his  pack  patiently,  and  was  led  by  the  halter;  but  in  two  days 
he  followed  voluntarily  at  large  among  the  supernumerary 
horses  of  the  troop. 

I  could  not  look  without  compassion  upon  this  fine  young 
animal,  whose  whole  course  of  existence  had  been  so  suddenly 
reversed.  From  being  a  denizen  of  these  vast  pastures,  rang- 
ing at  will  from  plain  to  plain  and  mead  to  mead,  cropping  of 
every  herb  and  flower,  and  drinking  of  every  stream,  he  was 
suddenly  reduced  to  perpetual  and  painful  servitude,  to  pass 
his  life  under  the  harness  and  the  curb,  amid,  perhaps,  the  din 
and  dust  and  drudgery  of  cities.  The  transition  in  his  lot  was 
such  as  sometimes  takes  place  in  human  affairs,  and  in  the  for- 
tunes of  towering  individuals : — one  day,  a  prince  of  the  prai- 
ries— the  next  day,  a  pack-horse ! 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  FORDING  OF  THE  RED  FORK. — THE  DREARY  FORESTS  OF  THE 
"CROSS  TIMBER."— BUFFALO! 

WE  left  the  camp  of  the  wild  horse  about  a  quarter  before 
eight,  and,  after  steering  nearly  south  for  three  or  four  miles, 
arrived  on  the  banks  of  the  Red  Fork,  about  seventy-five 
miles,  as  we  supposed,  above  its  mouth.  The  river  was  about 
three  hundred  yards  wide,  wandering  among  sand-bars  and 
shoals.  Its  shores,  and  the  long  sandy  banks  that  stretched 
out  into  the  stream,  were  printed,  as  usual,  with  the  traces  of 
various  animals  that  had  come  down  to  cross  it,  or  to  drink  its 
waters, 


78  A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

Here  we  came  to  a  halt,  and  there  was  much  consultation 
about  the  possibility  of  fording  the  river  with  safety,  as  there 
was  an  apprehension  of  quicksands.  Beatte,  who  had  been 
somewhat  in  the  rear,  came  up  while  we  were  debating.  He 
was  mounted  on  his  horse  of  the  half-wild  breed,  and  leading 
his  captive  by  the  bridle.  He  gave  the  latter  in  charge  to  To- 
nish,  and  without  saying  a  word,  urged  his  horse  into  the 
stream,  and  crossed  it  in  safety.  Every  thing  was  done  by  this 
man  in  a  similar  way,  promptly,  resolutely,  and  silently,  with- 
out a  previous  promise  or  an  after  vaunt. 

The  troop  now  followed  the  lead  of  Beatte,  and  reached  the 
opposite  shore  without  any  mishap,  though  one  of  the  pack- 
horses  wandering  a  little  from  the  track,  came  near  being 
swallowed  up  in  a  quicksand,  and  was  with  difficulty  dragged 
to  land. 

After  crossing  the  river,  we  had  to  force  our  way,  for  nearly 
a  mile,  through  a  thick  canebrake,  which,  at  first  sight,  ap- 
peared an  impervious  mass  of  reeds  and  brambles.  It  was  a 
hard  struggle ;  our  horses  were  often  to  the  saddle-girths  in 
mire  and  water,  and  both  horse  and  horseman  harassed  and 
torn  by  bush  and  brier.  Falling,  however,  upon  a  buffalo 
track,  we  at  length  extricated  ourselves  from  this  morass,  and 
ascended  a  ridge  of  land,  where  we  beheld  a  beautiful  open 
country  before  us ;  while  to  our  right,  the  belt  of  forest  land, 
called  "The  Cross  Timber,"  continued  stretching  away  to  the 
southward,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  We  soon  abandoned 
the  open  country,  and  struck  into  the  forest  land.  It  was  the 
intention  of  the  Captain  to  keep  on  southwest  by  south,  and 
traverse  the  Cross  Timber  diagonally,  so  as  to  come  out  upon 
the  edge  of  the  great  western  prairie.  By  thus  maintaining 
something  of  a  southerly  direction,  he  trusted,  while  he  crossed 
the  belt  of  the  forest,  he  would  at  the  same  time  approach  the 
Red  River. 

The  plan  of  the  Captain  was  judicious;  but  he  erred  from 
foot  being  informed  of  the  nature  of  the  country.  Had  he 
kept  directly  west,  a  couple  of  days  would  have  carried  us 
through  the  forest  land,  and  we  might  then  have  had  an  easy 
course  along  the  skirts  of  the  upper  prairies,  to  Red  River;  by 
<?oing  diagonally,  we  were  kept  for  many  weary  days  toiling 
through  a  dismal  series  of  rugged  forests. 

The  Cross  Timber  is  about  forty  miles  in  breadth,  and 
stretches  over  a  rough  country  of  rolling  hills,  covered  with 
scattered  tracts  of  post-oak  and  black-jack;  with  some  inter 


A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  79 

vening  valleys,  which,  at  proper  seasons,  would  afford  good 
pasturage.  It  is  very  much  cut  up  by  deep  ravines,  which,  in 
the  rainy  seasons,  are  the  beds  of  temporary  streams,  tribu- 
tary to  the  main  rivers,  and  these  are  called  "  branches."  The 
whole  tract  may  present  a  pleasant  aspect  in  the  fresh  time  of 
the  year,  when  the  ground  is  covered  with  herbage ;  when  the 
trees  are  in  their  green  leaf,  and  the  glens  are  enlivened  by 
running  streams.  Unfortunately,  we  entered  it  too  late  in  the 
season.  The  herbage  was  parched ;  the  f oliage  of  the  scrubby 
forests  was  withered ;  the  whole  woodland  prospect,  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach,  had  a  brown  and  arid  hue.  The  fires 
made  on  the  prairies  by  the  Indian  hunters,  had  frequently 
penetrated  these  forests,  sweeping  in  light  transient  flames 
along  the  dry  grass,  scorching  and  calcining  the  lower  twigs 
and  branches  of  the  trees,  and  leaving  them  black  and  hard,  so 
as  to  tear  the  flesh  of  man  and  horse  that  had  to  scramble 
through  them.  I  shall  not  easily  forget  the  mortal  toil,  and 
the  vexations  of  flesh  and  spirit,  that  we  underwent  occasion- 
ally, in  our  wanderings  through  the  Cross  Timber.  It  was 
like  struggling  through  forests  of  cast  iron. 

After  a  tedious  ride  of  several  miles,  we  came  out  upon  an 
open  tract  of  hill  and  dale,  interspersed  with  woodland.  Here 
we  were  roused  by  the  cry  of  buffalo!  buffalo  1  The  effect  was 
something  like  that  of  the  cry  of  a  sail !  a  safl !  at  sea.  It  was 
not  a  false  alarm.  Three  or  four  of  those  enormous  animals 
were  visible  to  our  sight  grazing  on  the  slope  of  a  distant  bill 

There  was  a  general  movement  to  set  off  in  pursuit,  and 
it  was  with  some  difficulty  that  the  vivacity  of  the  younger 
men  of  the  troop  could  be  restrained.  Leaving  orders  that 
the  line  of  march  should  be  preserved,  the  Captain  and  two 
of  his  officers  departed  at  quiet  a  pace,  accompanied  by  Beatte, 
and  by  the  ever-forward  Tonish;  for  it  was  impossible  any 
longer  to  keep  the  little  Frenchman  in  check,  being  half  crazy 
to  prove  his  skill  and  prowess  in  hunting  the  buffalo. 

The  intervening  hills  soon  hid  from  us  both  the  game  and 
the  huntsmen.  We  kept  on  our  course  in  quest  of  a  camp- 
ing place,  which  was  difficult  to  be  found;  almost  all  the 
channels  of  the  streams  being  dry,  and  the  country  being  des- 
titute of  fountain  heads. 

After  proceeding  some  distance,  there  was  again  a  cry  of 
buffalo,  and  two  were  pointed  out  on  a  bill  to  the  left.  The 
Captain  being  absent,  it  was  no  longer  possible  to  restrain  the 
ardor  of  the  young  hunters.  Away  several  of  them  dashed, 


80  A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

full  speed,  and  soon  disappeared  among  the  ravines ;  the  rest 
kept  on,  anxious  to  find  a  proper  place  for  encampment. 

Indeed  we  now  began  to  experience  the  disadvantages  of  the 
season.  The  pasturage  of  the  prairies  was  scanty  and  parched; 
the  pea- vines  which  grew  in  the  woody  bottoms  were  withered, 
and  most  of  the  "  branches"  or  streams  were  dried  up.  While 
wandering  in  this  perplexity,  we  were  overtaken  by  the  Cap- 
tain and  all  his  party,  except  Tonish.  They  had  pursued  the 
buffalo  for  some  distance  without  getting  within  shot,  and  had 
given  up  the  chase,  being  fearful  of  fatiguing  their  horses,  or 
being  led  off  too  far  from  camp.  The  little  Frenchman,  how- 
ever, had  galloped  after  them  at  headlong  speed,  and  the 
last  they  saw  of  him,  he  was  engaged,  as  it  were,  yard-arm 
and  yard-arm,  with  a  great  buffalo  bull,  firing  broadsides  into 
him.  "I  tink  dat  little  man  crazy — somehow,"  observed 
Beatte,  dryly. 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

THE    ALARM    CAMP. 

WE  now  came  to  a  halt,  and  had  to  content  ourselves  with 
an  indifferent  encampment.  It  was  in  a  grove  of  scruboaks, 
on  the  borders  of  a  deep  ravine,  at  the  bottom  of  which  were 
a  few  scanty  pools  of  water.  We  were  just  at  the  foot  of 
a  gradually -sloping  hill,  covered  with  half -withered  grass,  that 
afforded  meagre  pasturage.  In  the  spot  where  we  had  en- 
camped, the  grass  was  high  and  parched.  The  view  around  us 
was  circumscribed  and  much  shut  in  by  gently  swelling  hills. 

Just  as  we  were  encamping,  Tonish  arrived,  all  glorious, 
from  his  hunting  match ;  his  white  horse  hung  all  round  with 
buffalo  meat.  According  to  his  own  account,  he  had  laid  low 
two  mighty  bulls.  As  usual,  we  deducted  one  half  from  his 
boastings;  but,  now  that  he  had  something  real  to  vaunt 
about,  there  was  no  restraining  the  valor  of  his  tongue. 

After  having  in  some  measure  appeased  his  vanity  by  boast- 
ing of  his  exploit,  he  informed  us  that  he  had  observed  the 
fresh  track  of  horses,  which,  from  various  circumstances,  he 
suspected  to  have  been  made  by  some  roving  band  of  Pawnees. 
This  caused  some  little  uneasiness.  The  young  men  who 
had  left  the  line  of  march  in  pursuit  of  the  two  buffaloes,  had 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PBAIRIE8.  Q\ 

not  yet  rejoined  us ;  apprehensions  were  expressed  that  they 
might  be  waylaid  and  attacked.  Our  veteran  hunter,  old 
Ryan,  also,  immediately  on  our  halting  to  encamp,  had  gone 
off  on  foot,  in  company  with  a  young  disciple.  "  Dat  old  man 
will  have  his  brains  knocked  out  by  de  Pawnees  yet,"  said 
Beatte.  "He  tink  he  know  every  ting,  but  he  don't  know 
Pawnees,  anyhow." 

Taking  his  rifle,  the  Captain  repaired  on  foot  to  reconnoitre 
the  country  from  the  naked  summit  of  one  of  the  neighbor- 
ing hills.  In  the  meantime,  the  horses  were  hobbled  and 
turned  loose  to  graze ;  and  wood  was  cut,  and  fires  made,  to 
prepare  the  evening's  repast. 

Suddenly  there  was  an  alarm  of  fire  in  the  camp !  The  flame 
from  one  of  the  kindling  fires  had  caught  to  the  tall  dry  grass ; 
a  breeze  was  blowing ;  there  was  danger  that  the  camp  would 
soon  be  wrapped  in  a  light  blaze.  "  Look  to  the  horses !"  cried 
one;  "Drag  away  the  baggage !"  cried  another.  "Take  care 
of  the  rifles  and  powder-horns !"  cried  a  third.  All  was  hurry- 
scurry  and  uproar.  The  horses  dashed  wildly  about;  some 
of  the  men  snatched  away  rifles  and  powder-horns,  others 
dragged  off  saddles  and  saddle-bags.  Meantime,  no  one 
thought  of  quelling  the  fire,  nor  indeed  knew  how  to  quell  it. 
Beatte,  however,  and  his  comrades  attacked  it  in  the  Indian 
mode,  beating  down  the  edges  of  the  fire  with  blankets  and 
horse-cloths,  and  endeavoring  to  prevent  its  spreading  among 
the  grass ;  the  rangers  followed  their  example,  and  in  a  little 
while  the  flames  were  happily  quelled. 

The  fires  were  now  properly  kindled  on  places  from  which 
the  dry  grass  had  been  cleared  away.  The  horses  were  scat- 
tered about  a  small  valley,  and  on  the  sloping  hill-side,  crop- 
ping the  scanty  herbage.  Tonish  was  preparing  a  sumptuous 
evening's  meal  from  his  buffalo  meat,  promising  us  a  rich  soup 
and  a  prime  piece  of  roast  beef :  but  we  were  doomed  to  ex- 
perience another  and  more  serious  alarm. 

There  was  an  indistinct  cry  from  some  rangers  on  the  sum- 
mit of  the  hill,  of  which  we  could  only  distinguish  the  words, 
"  The  horses !  the  horses!  get  in  the  horses !" 

Immediately  a  clamor  of  voices  arose ;  shouts,  inquiries,  re- 
plies, were  all  mingled  together,  so  that  nothing  could  be 
clearly  understood,  and  every  one  drew  his  own  inference. 

"  The  Captain  has  started  buffaloes,"  cried  one,  "and  wants 
horses  for  the  chase."  Immediately  a  number  of  rangers 
seized  their  rifles,  and  scampered  for  the  hill-top.  "  The  prai- 


82  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

rie  is  on  fire  beyond  the  hill,"  cried  another;  "I  see  the 
smoke— the  Captain  means  we  shall  drive  the  horses  beyond 
the  brook." 

By  this  time  a  ranger  from  the  hill  had  reached  the  skirts  of 
the  camp.  He  was  almost  breathless,  and  could  only  say  that 
the  Captain  had  seen  Indians  at  a  distance. 

"Pawnees!  Pawnees!"  was  now  the  cry  among  our  wild- 
headed  youngsters.  "  Drive  the  horses  into  camp!"  cried  one. 
"Saddle  the  horses !"  cried  another.  "  Form  the  line !"  cried  a 
third.  There  was  now  a  scene  of  clamor  and  confusion  that 
baffles  all  description.  The  rangers  were  scampering  about 
the  adjacent  field  in  pursuit  of  their  horses.  One  might  be 
seen  tugging  his  steed  along  by  a  halter;  another  without  a 
hat,  riding  bare-backed;  another  driving  a  hobbled  horse  be- 
fore him,  that  made  awkward  leaps  like  a  kangaroo. 

The  alarm  increased.  Word  was  brought  from  the  lower 
end  of  the  camp  that  there  was  a  band  of  Pawnees  in  a  neigh' 
boring  valley.  They  had  shot  old  Ryan  through  the  head,  and 
were  chasing  his  companion  I  "No,  it  was  not  old  Eyan  thafr 
was  killed — it  was  one  of  the  hunters  that  had  been  after  the 
two  buffaloes."  "  There  are  three  hundred  Pawnees  just  be- 
yond the  hill,"  cried  one  voice.  "  More,  more!"  cried  another. 

Our  situation,  shut  in  among  hills,  prevented  our  seeing  to 
any  distance,  and  left  us  a  prey  to  all  these  rumors.  A  cruel 
enemy  was  supposed  to  be  at  hand,  and  an  immediate  attack 
apprehended.  The  horses  by  this  time  were  driven  into  the 
camp,  and  were  dashing  about  among  the  fires,  and  trampling 
upon  the  baggage.  Every  one  endeavored  to  prepare  for 
action ;  but  here  was  the  perplexity.  During  the  late  alarm  of 
fire,  the  saddles,  bridles,  rifles,  powder-horns,  and  other  equip- 
ments, had  been  snatched  out  of  their  places,  and  thrown 
helter-skelter  among  the  trees.  j 

"  Where  is  my  saddle?"  cried  one.  "  Has  any  one  seen  my 
rifle?"  cried  another.  "Who  will  lend  me  a  ball?"  cried  a 
third,  who  was  loading  his  piece.  "I  have  lost  my  bullet 
pouch."  "  For  God's  sake  help  me  to  girth  this  horse!"  cried 
another:  "  he's  so  restive  I  can  do  nothing  with  him."  In  his 
hurry  and  worry,  he  had  put  on  the  saddle  the  hind  part  be- 
fore! 

Some  affected  to  swagger  and  talk  bold;  others  said  nothing, 
but  went  on  steadily,  preparing  their  horses  and  weapons,  and 
on  these  I  felt  the  most  reliance.  Some  were  evidently  excited 
and  elated  with  the  idea  of  an  encounter  with  Indians;  and 


A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  83 

none  more  so  than  my  young  Swiss  fellow-traveller,  who  had  a 
passion  for  wild  adventure.  Our  man,  Beatte,  led  his  horses 
in  the  rear  of  the  camp,  placed  his  rifle  against  a  tree,  then 
seated  himself  by  the  fire  in  perfect  silence.  On  the  other 
hand,  little  Tonnish,  who  was  busy  cooking,  stopped  every 
moment  from  his  work  to  play  the  fanfaron,  singing,  swear- 
ing, and  affecting  an  unusual  hilarity,  which  made  me  strong- 
ly suspect  there  was  some  little  fright  at  bottom,  to  cause  all 
this  effervescence. 

About  a  dozen  of  the  rangers,  as  soon  as  they  could  saddle 
their  horses,  dashed  off  in  the  direction  in  which  the  Pawnees 
were  said  to  have  attacked  the  hunters.  It  was  now  deter- 
mined, in  case  our  camp  should  be  assailed,  to  put  our  horses 
in  the  ravine  in  the  rear,  where  they  would  be  out  of  danger 
from  arrow  or  rifle-ball,  and  to  take  our  stand  within  the  edge 
of  the  ravine.  This  would  serve  as  a  trench,  and  the  trees  and 
thickets  with  which  it  was  bordered,  would  be  sufficient  to 
turn  aside  any  shaft  of  the  enemy.  The  Pawnees,  besides,  are 
wary  of  attacking  any  covert  of  the  kind;  their  warfare,  as  I 
have  already  observed,  lies  in  the  open  prairie,  where,  mounted 
upon  their  fleet  horses,  they  can  swoop  like  hawks  upon  their 
enemy,  or  wheel  about  him  and  discharge  their  arrows.  Still 
I  could  not  but  perceive,  that,  in  case  of  being  attacked  by 
such  a  number  of  these  well-mounted  and  war-like  savages  as 
were  said  to  be  at  hand,  we  should  be  exposed  to  considerable 
risk  from  the  inexperience  and  want  of  discipline  of  our  newly 
raised  rangers,  and  from  the  very  courage  of  many  of  the 
younger  ones  who  seemed  bent  on  adventure  and  exploit. 

By  this  time  the  Captain  reached  the  camp,  and  every  one 
crowded  round  him  for  information.  He  informed  us,  that 
he  had  proceeded  some  distance  on  his  reconnoitring  expedi- 
tion, and  was  slowly  returning  toward  the  camp,  along  the 
brow  of  a  naked  hill,  when  he  saw  something  on  the  edge  of  a 
parallel  hill,  that  looked  like  a  man.  He  paused  and  watched 
it;  but  it  remained  so  perfectly  motionless,  that  he  supposed  it 
a  bush,  or  the  top  of  some  tree  beyond  the  hill.  He  resumed 
his  course,  when  it  likewise  began  to  move  in  a  parallel  direc- 
tion. Another  form  now  rose  beside  it,  of  some  one  who  had 
either  been  lying  down,  or  had  just  ascended  the  other  side  of 
the  hill.  The  Captain  stopped  and  regarded  them ;  they  like- 
wise stopped.  He  then  lay  down  upon  the  grass,  and  they 
began  to  walk.  On  his  rising,  they  again  stopped,  as  if  watch- 
ing him.  Knowing  that  the  Indians  are  apt  to  have  their  spies 


84  4  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

and  sentinels  thus  posted  on  the  summit  of  naked  hills,  com- 
manding extensive  prospects,  his  doubts  were  increased  by  the 
suspicious  movements  of  these  men.  He  now  put  his  foraging 
cap  on  the  end  of  his  rifle,  and  waved  it  in  the  air.  They  took  no 
notice  of  the  signal.  lie  then  walked  on,  until  he  entered  the 
edge  of  a  wood,  which  concealed  him,  from  their  view.  Stop- 
ping out  of  sight  for  a  moment,  he  again  looked  forth,  when 
he  saw  the  two  men  passing  swiftly  forward.  As  the  hill  on 
which  they  were  walking  made  a  curve  toward  that  on  which 
he  stood,  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  endeavoring  to  head  him 
before  he  should  reach  the  camp.  Doubting  whether  they 
might  not  belong  to  some  large  party  of  Indians,  either  in 
ambush  or  moving  along  the  valley  beyond  the  hill,  the  Cap- 
tain hastened  his  steps  homeward,  and,  descrying  some  rangers 
on  an  eminence  between  him  and  the  camp,  he  called  out  to 
them  to  pass  the  word  to  have  the  horses  driven  in,  as  these 
are  generally  the  first  objects  of  Indian  depredation. 

Such  was  the  origin  of  the  alarm  which  had  thrown  the 
camp  in  commotion.  Some  of  those  who  heard  the  Captain's 
narration,  had  no  doubt  that  the  men  on  the  hill  were  Pawnee 
scouts,  belonging  to  the  band  that  had  waylaid  the  hunters. 
Distant  shots  were  heard  at  intervals,  which  were  supposed  to 
be  fired  by  those  who  had  sallied  out  to  rescue  their  comrades. 
Several  more  rangers,  having  completed  their  equipments, 
now  rode  forth  in  the  direction  of  the  firing;  others  looked 
anxious  and  uneasy. 

"  If  they  are  as  numerous  as  they  are  said  to  be,"  said  one, 
"  and  as  well  mounted  as  they  generally  are,  we  shall  be  a  bad 
match  for  them  with  our  jaded  horses." 

"Well,"  replied  the  Captain,  "we  have  a  strong  encamp- 
ment, and  can  stand  a  siege." 

"Ay,  but  they  may  set  fire  to  the  prairie  in  the  night,  and 
burn  us  out  of  our  encampment." 

"We  will  then  set  up  a  counter-fire!" 

The  word  was  now  passed  that  a  man  on  horseback  ap- 
proached the  camp. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  hunters !  It  is  Clements !  He  brings  buffalo 
meat  1"  was  announced  by  several  voices  as  the  horseman  drew 
near. 

It  was,  in  fact,  one  of  the  rangers  who  had  set  off  in  the 
morning  hi  pursuit  of  the  two  buffaloes.  He  rode  into  the  camp, 
with  the  spoils  of  the  chase  hanging  round  his  horse,  and  fol- 
lowed by  his  companions,  all  sound  and  unharmed,  and  equally 


A   TOUR  01T  THE  PRAIRIES.  85 

well  laden.  They  proceeded  to  give  an  account  of  a  grand 
gallop  they  had  had  after  the  two  buffaloes,  and  how  many 
shots  it  had  cost  them  to  bring  one  to  the  ground. 

"Well,  but  the  Pawnees — the  Pawnees — where  are  the 
Pawnees?" 

'  What  Pawnees?" 

'The  Pawnees  that  attacked  you." 

'  No  one  attacked  us." 

'  But  have  you  seen  no  Indians  on  your  way?" 

'  Oh  yes,  two  of  us  got  to  the  top  of  a  hill  to  look  out  for  the 
camp,  and  saw  a  fellow  on  an  opposite  hill  cutting  queer  an- 
tics, who  seemed  to  be  an  Indian." 

"Pshaw!  that  was  I!"  said  the  Captain. 
Here  the  bubble  burst.  The  whole  alarm  had  risen  from 
this  mutual  mistake  of  the  Captain  and  the  two  rangers.  As 
to  the  report  of  the  three  hundred  Pawnees  and  their  attack 
on  the  hunters,  it  proved  to  be  a  wanton  fabrication,  of  which 
no  further  notice  was  taken;  though  the  author  deserved  to 
have  been  sought  out,  and  severely  punished. 

There  being  no  longer  any  prospect  of  fighting,  every  one 
now  thought  of  eating ;  and  here  the  stomachs  throughout  the 
camp  were  in  unison.  Tonish  served  up  to  us  his  promised 
regale  of  buffalo  soup  and  buffalo  beef.  The  soup  was  pep- 
pered most  horribly,  and  the  roast  beef  proved  the  bull  to  have 
been  one  of  the  patriarchs  of  the  prairies ;  never  did  I  have  to 
deal  with  a  tougher  morsel.  However,  it  was  our  first  repast 
on  buffalo  meat,  so  we  ate  it  with  a  lively  faith ;  nor  would  our 
little  Frenchman  allow  us  any  rest,  until  he  had  extorted  from 
us  an  acknowledgment  of  the  excellence  of  his  cookery ;  though, 
the  pepper  gave  us  the  lie  in  our  throats. 

The  night  closed  in  without  the  return  of  old  Ryan  and  his 
companion.  We  had  become  accustomed,  however,  to  the 
aberrations  of  this  old  cock  of  the  woods,  and  no  further  solici- 
tude was  expressed  on  his  account. 

After  the  fatigues  and  agitations  of  the  day,  the  camp  soon 
sunk  into  a  profound  sleep,  excepting  those  on  guard,  who  were 
more  than  usually  on  the  alert ;  for  the  traces  recently  seen 
of  Pawnees,  and  tne  certainty  that  we  were  in  the  midst  of 
their  hunting  grounds,  excited  to  constant  vigilance.  About 
hah*  past  ten  o'clock  we  were  all  startled  from  sleep  by  a  new 
alarm.  A  sentinel  had  fired  off  his  rifle  and  run  into  camp, 
crying  that  there  were  Indians  at  hand. 
Every  one  was  on  his  legs  in  an  instant  Some  seized  their 


86  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

rifles;  some  were  about  to  saddle  their  horses;  some  hastened 
to  the  Captain's  lodge,  but  were  ordered  back  to  their  respec- 
tive fires.  The  sentinel  was  examined.  He  declared  he  had 
seen  an  Indian  approach,  crawling  along  the  ground ;  where- 
upon he  had  fired  upon  him,  and  run  into  camp.  The  Cap- 
tain gave  it  as  his  opinion,  that  the  supposed  Indian  was  a 
wolf;  he  reprimanded  the  sentinel  for  deserting  his  post,  and 
obliged  him  to  return  to  it.  Many  seemed  inclined  to  give 
credit  to  the  story  of  the  sentinel ;  for  the  events  of  the  day 
had  predisposed  them  to  apprehend  lurking  foes  and  sudden 
assaults  during  the  darkness  of  the  night.  For  a  long  time 
they  sat  round  their  fires,  with  rifle  in  hand,  carrying  on  low, 
murmuring  conversations,  and  listening  for  some  new  alarm. 
Nothing  further,  however,  occurred ;  the  voices  gradually  died 
away ;  the  gossipers  nodded  and  dozed,  and  sunk  to  rest ;  and, 
by  degrees,  silence  and  sleep  once  more  stole  over  the  camp. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

BEAVER  DAM.  —  BUFFALO  AND  HORSE  TRACKS.  —  A  PAWNEE 
TRAIL.— WILD  HORSES.— THE  YOUNG  HUNTER  AND  THE  BEAR. 
—CHANGE  OF  ROUTE. 

ON  mustering  our  forces  in  the  morning  (October  23d),  old 
Ryan  and  his  comrade  were  still  missing;  but  the  Captain  had 
such  perfect  reliance  on  the  skill  and  resources  of  the  veteran 
woodsman,  that  he  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  take  any 
measures  with  respect  to  him. 

Our  march  this  day  lay  through  the  same  kind  of  rough 
rolling  country ;  checkered  by  brown  dreary  forests  of  post- 
oak,  and  cut  up  by  deep  dry  ravines.  The  distant  fires  were 
evidently  increasing  on  the  prairies.  The  wind  had  been  at 
northwest  for  several  days ;  and  the  atmosphere  had  become 
so  smoky,  as  in  the  height  of  Indian  summer,  that  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  distinguish  objects  at  any  distance. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning,  we  crossed  a  deep  stream  with 
a  complete  beaver  dam,  above  three  feet  high,  making  a  large 
pond,  and  doubtless  containing  several  families  of  that  indus- 
trious animal,  though  not  one  showed  his  nose  above  water. 
The  Captain  would  not  permit  this  amphibious  commonwealth 
lobe  disturbed. 


A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  87 

We  were  now  continually  coming  upon  the  tracks  of  buf- 
faloes and  wild  horses ;  those  of  the  former  tended  invariably 
to  the  south,  as  we  could  perceive  by  the  direction  of  the  tram- 
pled grass.  It  was  evident  we  were  on  the  great  highway  of 
these  migratory  herds,  but  that  they  had  chiefly  passed  to  the 
southward. 

Beatte,  who  generally  kept  a  parallel  course  several  hundred 
yards  distant  from  our  line  of  march,  to  be  on  the  lookout  for 
game,  and  who  regarded  every  track  with  the  knowing  eye 
of  an  Indian,  reported  that  he  had  come  upon  a  very  suspi- 
cious trail.  There  were  the  tracks  of  men  who  wore  Pawnee 
moccasons.  He  had  scented  the  smoke  of  mingled  sumach  and 
tobacco,  such  as  the  Indians  use.  He  had  observed  tracks  of 
horses,  mingled  with  those  of  a  dog ;  and  a  mark  in  the  dust 
where  a  cord  had  been  trailed  along;  probably  the  long  bridle, 
one  end  of  which  the  Indian  horsemen  suffer  to  trail  on  the 
ground.  It  was  evident,  they  were  not  the  tracks  of  wild 
horses.  My  anxiety  began  to  revive  about  the  safety  of  our 
veteran  hunter  Ryan,  for  I  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  this 
real  old  Leatherstocking;  every  one  expressed  a  confidence, 
however,  that  wherever  Ryan  was,  he  was  safe,  and  knew 
how  to  take  care  of  himself. 

We  had  accomplished  the  greater  part  of  a  weary  day's 
march,  and  were  passing  through  a  glade  of  the  oak  openings, 
when  we  came  in  sight  of  six  wild  horses,  among  which  I 
especially  noticed  two  very  handsome  ones,  a  gray  and  a  roan. 
They  pranced  about,  with  heads  erect,  and  long  flaunting  tails, 
offering  a  proud  contrast  to  our  poor,  spiritless,  travel-tired 
steeds.  Having  reconnoitred  us  for  a  moment,  they  set  off 
at  a  gallop,  passed  through  a  woody  dingle,  and  in  a  little 
while  emerged  once  more  to  view,  trotting  up  a  slope  about 
'a  mile  distant. 

The  sight  of  these  horses  was  again  a  sore  trial  to  the  vapor- 
ing Tonish,  who  had  his  lariat  and  forked  stick  ready,  and  was 
on  the  point  of  launching  forth  in  pursuit,  on  his  jaded  horse, 
when  he  was  again  ordered  back  to  the  pack-horses.  After  a 
day's  journey  of  fourteen  miles  in  a  southwest  direction,  we 
encamped  on  the  banks  of  a  small  clear  stream,  on  the  north- 
ern border  of  the  Cross  Timber;  and  on  the  edge  of  those 
vast  prairies,  that  extend  away  to  the  foot  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains. In  turning  loose  the  horses  to  graze,  their  bells  were 
stuffed  with  grass  to  prevent  their  tinkling,  lest  it  might  be 
heard  by  some  wandering  horde  of  Pawnees. 


88  A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIEIES. 

Our  hunters  now  went  out  in  different  directions,  but  with- 
out much  success,  as  but  one  deer  was  brought  into  the  camp. 
A  young  ranger  had  a  long  story  to  tell  of  his  adventures.  In 
skirting  the  thickets  of  a  deep  ravine  he  had  wounded  a  buck, 
which  he  plainly  heard  to  fall  among  the  bushes.  He  stopped 
to  fix  the  lock  of  his  rifle,  which  was  out  of  order,  and  to  reload 
it ;  then  advancing  to  the  edge  of  the  thicket,  in  quest  of  his 
game,  he  heard  a  low  growling.  Putting  the  branches  aside, 
and  stealing  silently  forward,  he  looked  down  into  the  ravine 
and  beheld  a  huge  bear  dragging  the  carcass  of  the  deer  along 
the  dry  channel  of  a  brook,  and  growling  and  snarling  at  four 
or  five  officious  wolves,  who  seemed  to  have  dropped  in  to  take 
supper  with  him. 

The  ranger  fired  at  the  bear,  but  missed  him.  Bruin  main- 
tained his  ground  and  his  prize,  and  seemed  disposed  to  make 
battle.  The  wolves,  too,  who  were  evidently  sharp  set,  drew 
off  to  but  a  small  distance.  As  night  was  coming  on,  the 
young  hunter  felt  dismayed  at  the  wildness  and  darkness  of 
the  place,  and  the  strange  company  he  had  fallen  in  with ;  so 
he  quietly  withdrew,  and  returned  empty  handed  to  the  camp, 
where,  having  told  his  story,  he  was  heartily  bantered  by  his 
more  experienced  comrades. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  old  Ryan  came  straggling  into 
the  camp,  followed  by  his  disciple,  and  as  usual  was  received 
with  hearty  gratulations.  He  had  lost  himself  yesterday,  when 
hunting,  and  camped  out  all  night,  but  had  found  our  trail  in 
the  morning,  and  followed  it  up.  He  had  passed  some  time  at 
the  beaver  dam,  admiring  the  skill  and  solidity  with  which  it 
had  been  constructed.  "These  beavers,"  said  he,  "  are  indus- 
trious little  fellows.  They  are  the  knowingest  varment  as  I 
know;  and  I  warrant  the  pond  was  stocked  with  them." 

"Aye,"  said  the  Captain,  "I  have  no  doubt  most  of  the 
small  rivers  we  have  passed  are  full  of  beaver.  I  would  like 
to  come  and  trap  on  these  waters  all  winter." 

"  But  would  you  not  run  the  chance  of  being  attacked  by 
Indians?"  asked  one  of  the  company. 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  it  would  be  safe  enough  here,  in  the  winter 
tune.  There  would  be  no  Indians  here  until  spring.  I  should 
want  no  more  than  two  companions.  Three  persons  are  safer 
than  a  large  number  for  trapping  beaver.  They  can  keep 
quiet,  and  need  seldom  fire  a  gun.  A  bear  would  serve  them 
for  food,  for  two  months,  taking  care  to  turn  every  part  of  it 
to  advantage." 


A  tom  ON  THE  PRAtEim.  89 

A  consultation  was  now  held  as  to  our  future  progress.  We 
had  thus  far  pursued  a  western  course ;  and,  having  traversed 
the  Cross  Timber,  were  on  the  skirts  of  the  Great  Western 
Prairie.  We  were  still,  however,  in  a  very  rough  country, 
where  food  was  scarce.  The  season  was  so  far  advanced  that 
the  grass  was  withered,  and  the  prairies  yielded  no  pasturage. 
The  pea-vines  of  the  bottoms,  also,  which  had  sustained  our 
horses  for  some  part  of  the  journey,  were  nearly  gone,  and  for 
several  days  past  the  poor  animals  had  fallen  off  wofully  both 
in  flesh  and  spirit.  The  Indian  fires  on  the  prairies  were 
approaching  us  from  north,  and  south,  and  west ;  they  might 
spread  also  from  the  east,  and  leave  a  scorched  desert  between 
us  and  the  frontier,  in  which  our  horses  might  be  famished. 

It  was  determined,  therefore,  to  advance  no  further  to  the 
westward,  but  to  shape  our  course  more  to  the  east,  so  as  to 
strike  the  north  fork  of  the  Canadian,  as  soon  as  possible,  where 
we  hoped  to  find  abundance  of  young  cane,  which,  at  this  sea- 
son of  the  year,  affords  the  most  nutritious  pasturage  for  the 
horses ;  and,  at  the  same  tune,  attracts  immense  quantities  of 
game.  Here  then  we  fixed  the  limits  of  our  tour  to  the  Far 
West,  being  within  little  more  than  a  day's  march  of  the  boun- 
dary line  of  Texas. 


CHAPTER  XXTV. 

SCARCITY  OF  BREAD.— RENCONTRE  WITH  BUFFALOES.— WILD  TUR- 
KEYS.— FALL  OF  A  BUFFALO  BULL. 

THE  morning  broke  bright  and  clear,  but  the  camp  had  noth- 
ing of  its  usual  gayety.  The  concert  of  the  farmyard  was  at 
an  end ;  not  a  cock  crew,  nor  dog  barked ;  nor  was  there  either 
singing  or  laughing ;  every  one  pursued  his  avocations  quietly 
and  gravely.  The  novelty  of  the  expedition  was  wearing  off. 
Some  of  the  young  men  were  getting  as  way-worn  as  their 
horses ;  and  most  of  them,  unaccustomed  to  the  hunter's  life, 
began  to  repine  at  its  privations.  What  they  most  felt  was 
the  want  of  bread,  their  rations  of  flour  having  been  exhausted 
for  several  days.  The  old  hunters,  who  had  often  experienced 
this  want,  made  light  of  it;  and  Beatte,  accustomed  when 
among  the  Indians  to  live  for  months  without  it,  considered  it 
a  mere  article  of  luxury.  "Bread,"  he  would  say  scornfully, 
"is  only  fit  for  a  child." 


90  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

About  a  quarter  before  eight  o'clock,  we  turned  our  backs 
upon  the  Far  West,  and  set  off  in  a  southeast  course,  along  a 
gentle  valley.  After  riding  a  few  miles,  Beatte,  who  kept 
parallel  with  us,  along  the  ridge  of  a  naked  hill  to  our  right, 
called  out  and  made  signals,  as  if  something  were  coming 
round  the  hill  to  intercept  us.  Some  who  were  near  me  cried 
out  that  it  was  a  party  of  Pawnees.  A  skirt  of  thickets  hid 
the  approach  of  the  supposed  enemy  from  our  view.  We 
heard  a  trampling  among  the  brushwood.  My  horse  looked 
toward  the  place,  snorted  and  pricked  up  his  ears,  when  pres- 
ently a  couple  of  large  buffalo  bulls,  who  had  been  alarmed  by 
Beatte,  came  crashing  through  the  brake,  and  making  directly 
toward  us.  At  sight  of  us  they  wheeled  round,  and  scuttled 
along  a  narrow  defile  of  the  hill.  In  an  instant  half  a  score 
of  rifles  cracked  off ;  there  was  a  universal  whoop  and  halloo, 
and  away  went  half  the  troop,  helter-skelter  in  pursuit,  and 
myself  among  the  number.  The  most  of  us  soon  pulled  up, 
and  gave  over  a  chase  which  led  through  birch  and  brier,  and 
break-neck  ravines.  Some  few  of  the  rangers  persisted  for 
a  time;  but  eventually  joined  the  line,  slowly  lagging  one 
after  another.  One  of  them  returned  on  foot;  he  had  been 
thrown  while  in  full  chase ;  his  rifle  had  been  broken  in  the 
fall,  and  his  horse,  retaining  the  spirit  of  the  rider,  had  kept 
on  after  the  buffalo.  It  was  a  melancholy  predicament  to  be 
reduced  to;  without  horse  or  weapon  in  the  midst  of  the 
Pawnee  hunting  grounds. 

For  my  own  part,  I  had  been  fortunate  enough  recently,  by 
a  further  exchange,  to  get  possession  of  the  best  horse  in  the 
troop;  a  full-blooded  sorrel  of  excellent  bottom,  beautiful 
form,  and  most  generous  qualities. 

In  such  a  situation  it  almost  seems  as  if  a  man  changes  his 
nature  with  his  horse.  I  felt  quite  like  another  being,  now 
that  I  had  an  animal  under  me,  spirited  yet  gentle,  docile  to 
a  remarkable  degree,  and  easy,  elastic,  and  rapid  in  all  his 
movements.  In  a  few  days  he  became  almost  as  much  at- 
tached to  me  as  a  dog;  would  follow  me  when  I  dismounted, 
would  come  to  me  in  the  morning  to  be  noticed  and  caressed ; 
and  would  put  his  muzzle  between  me  and  my  book,  as  I  sat 
reading  at  the  foot  of  a  tree.  The  feeling  I  had  for  this  my 
dumb  companion  of  the  prairies,  gave  me  some  faint  idea  of 
that  attachment  the  Arab  is  said  to  entertain  for  the  horse 
that  has  borne  him  about  the  deserts. 

After  riding  a  few  miles  further,  we  came  to  a  fine  meadow 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  91 

with  a  broad  clear  stream  winding  through  it,  on  the  banks  of 
which  there  was  excellent  pasturage.  Here  we  at  once  came 
to  a  halt,  in  a  beautiful  grove  of  elms,  on  the  site  of  an  old 
Osage  encampment.  Scarcely  had  we  dismounted,  when  a 
universal  firing  of  rifles  took  place  upon  a  large  flock  of  tur- 
keys, scattered  about  the  grove,  which  proved  to  be  a  favorite 
roosting-place  for  these  simple  birds.  They  flew  to  the  trees, 
and  sat  perched  upon  their  branches,  stretching  out  their  long 
necks,  and  gazing  in  stupid  astonishment,  until  eighteen  of 
them  were  shot  down. 

In  the  height  of  the  carnage,  word  was  brought  that  there 
were  four  buffaloes  in  a  neighboring  meadow.  The  turkeys 
were  now  abandoned  for  nobler  game.  The  tired  horses  were 
again  mounted,  and  urged  to  the  chase.  In  a  little  while  we 
came  in  sight  of  the  buffaloes,  looking  like  brown  hillocks 
among  the  long  green  herbage.  Beatte  endeavored  to  get 
ahead  of  them  and  turn  them  towards  us,  that  the  inexperi- 
enced hunters  might  have  a  chance.  They  ran  round  the  base 
of  a  rocky  hill,  that  hid  us  from  the  sight.  Some  of  us  en- 
deavored to  cut  across  the  hill,  but  became  entrapped  in  a 
thick  wood,  matted  with  grape-vines.  My  horse,  who,  under 
his  former  rider,  had  hunted  the  buffalo,  seemed  as  much 
excited  as  myself,  and  endeavored  to  force  his  way  through 
the  bushes.  At  length  we  extricated  ourselves,  and  galloping 
over  the  hill,  I  found  our  little  Frenchman,  Tonish,  curvetting 
on  horseback  round  a  great  buffalo  which  he  had  wounded  too 
severely  to  fly,  and  which  he  was  keeping  employed  until  we 
should  come  up.  There  was  a  mixture  of  the  grand  and  the 
comic,  in  beholding  this  tremendous  animal  and  his  fantastic 
assailant.  The  buffalo  stood  with  his  shaggy  front  always 
presented  to  his  foe ;  his  mouth  open,  his  tongue  parched,  his 
eyes  like  coals  of  fire,  and  his  tail  erect  with  rage ;  every  now 
and  then  he  would  make  a  faint  rush  upon  his  foe,  who  easily 
evaded  his  attack,  capering  and  cutting  all  kinds  of  antics 
before  him. 

We  now  made  repeated  shots  at  the  buffalo,  but  they 
glanced  into  his  mountain  of  flesh  without  proving  mortal. 
He  made  a  slow  and  grand  retreat  into  the  shallow  river, 
turning  upon  his  assailants  whenever  they  pressed  upon  him; 
and  when  in  the  water,  took  his  stand  there  as  if  prepared  to 
sustain  a  siege.  A  rifle-ball,  however,  more  fatally  lodged, 
sent  a  tremor  through  his  frame.  He  turned  and  attempted 
to  wade  across  the  stream,  but  after  tottering  a  few  paces, 


02  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

slowly  fell  upon  his  side  and  expired.  It  was  the  fall  of  a  hero, 
and  we  felt  somewhat  ashamed  of  the  butchery  that  had 
effected  it ;  but,  after  the  first  shot  or  two,  we  had  reconciled 
it  to  our  feelings,  by  the  old  plea  of  putting  the  poor  animal 
out  of  his  misery. 

Two  other  buffaloes  were  killed  this  evening,  but  they  were 
all  bulls,  the  flesh  of  which  is  meagre  and  hard,  at  this  season 
of  the  year.  A  fat  buck  yielded  us  more  savory  meat  for  our 
evening's  repast. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

RINGING   THE  WILD  HORSE. 

WE  left  the  buffalo  camp  about  eight  o'clock,  and  had  a 
toilsome  and  harassing  march  of  two  hours,  over  ridges  of 
hills,  covered  with  a  ragged  meagre  forest  of  scrub-oaks,  and 
broken  by  deep  gullies.  Among  the  oaks  I  observed  many  of 
the  most  diminutive  size;  some  not  above  a  foot  high,  yet 
bearing  abundance  of  small  acorns.  The  whole  of  the  Cross 
Timber,  in  fact,  abounds  with  mast.  There  is  a  pine-oak  which 
produces  an  acorn  pleasant  to  the  taste,  and  ripening  early  in 
the  season. 

About  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  we  came  to  where  this  line 
of  rugged  hills  swept  down  into  a  valley,  through  which  flowed 
the  north  fork  of  the  Red  River.  A  beautiful  meadow  about 
half  a  mile  wide,  enamelled  with  yellow  autumnal  flowers, 
stretched  for  two  or  three  miles  along  the  foot  of  the  hills, 
bordered  on  the  opposite  side  by  the  river,  whose  banks  were 
fringed  with  cotton  wood  trees,  the  bright  foliage  of  which  re- 
freshed and  delighted  the  eye,  after  being  wearied  by  the  con- 
templation of  monotonous  wastes  of  brown  forest. 

The  meadow  was  finely  diversified  by  groves  and  clumps  of 
trees,  so  happily  dispersed,  that  they  seemed  as  if  set  out  by 
the  hand  of  art.  As  we  cast  our  eyes  over  this  fresh  and  de- 
lightful valley,  we  beheld  a  troop  of  wild  horses,  quietly  graz- 
ing on  a  green  lawn,  about  a  mile  distant  to  our  right,  while  to 
our  left,  at  nearly  the  same  distance,  were  several  buffaloes; 
some  feeding,  others  reposing  and  ruminating  among  the  high 
rich  herbage,  under  the  shade  of  a  clump  of  cottonwood  trees. 
The  whole  had  the  appearance  of  a  broad  beautiful  tract  of 
pasture  land,  on  the  highly  ornamented  estate  of  some  gentle- 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  93 

man  farmer,  with  his  cattle  grazing  about  the  lawns  and  mea- 
dows. 

A  council  of  war  was  now  held,  and  it  was  determined  to 
profit  by  the  present  favorable  opportunity,  and  try  our  hand 
at  the  grand  hunting  manosuvre,  which  is  called  ringing  the 
wild  horse.  This  requires  a  large  party  of  horsemen,  well 
mounted.  They  extend  themselves  in  each  direction,  singly, 
at  certain  distances  apart,  and  gradually  form  a  ring  of  two  or 
three  miles  in  circumference,  so  as  to  surround  the  game.  This 
has  to  be  done  with  extreme  care,  for  the  wild  horse  is  the 
most  readily  alarmed  inhabitant  of  the  prairie,  and  can  scent  a 
hunter  at  a  great  distance,  if  to  windward. 

The  ring  being  formed,  two  or  three  ride  toward  the  horses, 
who  start  off  in  an  opposite  direction.  Whenever  they  ap- 
proach the  bounds  of  the  ring,  however,  a  huntsman  presents 
himself  and  turns  them  from  their  course.  In  this  way,  they 
are  checked  and  driven  back  at  every  point ;  and  kept  gallop 
ing  round  and  round  this  magic  circle,  until,  being  completely 
tired  down,  it  is  easy  for  the  hunters  to  ride  up  beside  them, 
and  throw  the  lariat  over  their  heads.  The  prime  horses  of 
most  speed,  courage,  and  bottom,  however,  are  apt  to  break 
through  and  escape,  so  that,  in  general,  it  is  the  second-rate 
horses  that  are  taken. 

Preparations  were  now  made  for  a  hunt  of  the  kind.  The 
pack-horses  were  taken  into  the  woods  and  firmly  tied  to  trees, 
lest,  in  a  rush  of  the  wild  horses,  they  should  break  away  with 
them.  Twenty-five  men  were  then  sent  under  the  command 
of  a  lieutenant,  to  steal  along  the  edge  of  the  valley  within  the 
strip  of  wood  that  skirted  the  hills.  They  were  to  station 
themselves  about  fifty  yards  apart,  within  the  edge  of  the 
woods,  and  not  advance  or  show  themselves  until  the  horses 
dashed  in  that  direction.  Twenty -five  men  were  sent  across 
the  valley,  to  steal  in  like  manner  along  the  river  bank  that 
bordered  the  opposite  side,  and  to  station  themselves  among 
the  trees.  A  third  party,  of  about  the  same  number,  was  to 
form  a  line,  stretching  across  the  lower  part  of  the  valley,  so 
as  to  connect  the  two  wings.  Beatte  and  our  other  half-breed, 
Antoine,  together  with  the  ever-officious  Tonish,  were  to  make 
a  circuit  through  the  woods  so  as  to  get  to  the  upper  part  of 
the  valley,  in  the  rear  of  the  horses,  and  to  drive  them  forward 
into  the  kind  of  sack  that  we  had  formed,  while  the  two  wings 
should  join  behind  them  and  make  a  complete  circle. 

The  flanking  parties  were  quietly  extending  themselves,  out 


94  -4  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIB8. 

of  sight,  on  each  side  of  the  valley,  and  the  residue  were 
stretching  themselves,  like  the  links  of  a  chain,  across  it,  when 
the  wild  horses  gave  signs  that  they  scented  an  enemy;  snuf- 
fing the  air,  snorting,  and  looking  about.  At  length  they 
pranced  off  slowly  toward  the  river,  and  disappeared  behind  a 
green  bank.  Here,  had  the  regulations  of  the  chase  been  ob- 
served, they  would  have  been  quietly  checked  and  turned  back 
by  the  advance  of  a  hunter  from  among  the  trees;  unluckily, 
however,  we  had  our  wild-fire  Jack-o'-lantern  little  Frenchman 
to  deal  with.  Instead  of  keeping  quietly  up  the  right  side  of 
the  valley,  to  get  above  the  horses,  the  moment  he  saw  them 
move  toward  the  river,  he  broke  out  of  the  covert  of  woods, 
and  dashed  furiously  across  the  plain  in  pursuit  of  them,  being 
mounted  on  one  of  the  led  horses  belonging  to  the  Count.  This 
put  an  end  to  all  system.  The  half-breeds  and  half  a  score  of 
rangers  joined  in  the  chase.  Away  they  all  went  over  the 
green  bank;  in  a  moment  or  two  the  wild  horses  reappeared, 
and  came  thundering  down  the  valley,  with  Frenchman,  half- 
breeds,  and  rangers  galloping  and  yelling  like  devils  behind 
them.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  line  drawn  across  the  valley  at- 
tempted to  check  and  turn  back  the  fugitives.  They  were  too 
hotly  pressed  by  their  pursuers;  in  their  panic  they  dashed 
through  the  line,  and  clattered  down  the  plain.  The  whole 
troop  joined  in  the  headlong  chase,  some  of  the  rangers  with- 
out hats  or  caps,  their  hair  flying  about  their  ears,  others  with 
handkerchiefs  tied  round  their  heads.  The  buffaloes,  who  had 
been  calmly  ruminating  among  the  herbage,  heaved  up  their 
huge  forms,  gazed  for  a  moment  with  astonishment  at  the 
tempest  that  came  scouring  down  the  meadow,  then  turned 
and  took  to  heavy-rolling  flight.  They  were  soon  overtaken; 
the  promiscuous  throng  were  pressed  together  by  the  contract- 
ing sides  of  the  valley,  and  away  they  went,  pell-mell,  hurry- 
scurry,  wild  buffalo,  wild  horse,  wild  huntsman,  with  clang 
and  clatter,  and  whoop  and  halloo,  that  made  the  forests  ring. 
At  length  the  buffaloes  turned  into  a  green  brake  on  the 
river  bank,  while  the  horses  dashed  up  a  narrow  defile  of  the 
hills,  with  their  pursuers  close  at  their  heels.  Beatte  passed 
several  of  them,  having  fixed  his  eye  upon  a  fine  Pawnee  horse, 
that  had  his  ears  slit,  and  saddle-marks  upon  his  back.  He 
pressed  him  gallantly,  but  lost  him  in  the  woods.  Among  the 
wild  horses  was  a  fine  black  mare,  far  gone  with  foal.  In 
scrambling  up  the  defile,  she  tripped  and  foil.  A  young  ranger 
sprang  from  his  horse,  and  seized  her  by  the  mane  and  muzzle. 


A   TOUR  OJV   THE  PRAIRIES.  95 

Another  ranger  dismounted,  and  came  to  his  assistance.  The 
mare  struggled  fiercely,  kicking  and  biting,  and  striking  with 
her  fore  feet,  but  a  noose  was  slipped  over  her  head,  and  her 
struggles  were  in  vain.  It  was  some  time,  however,  before 
she  gave  over  rearing  and  plunging,  and  lashing  out  with  her 
feet  on  every  side.  The  two  rangers  then  led  her  along  the 
valley  by  two  long  lariats,  which  enabled  them  to  keep  at  ; 
sufficient  distance  on  each  side  to  be  out  of  the  reach  of  her 
hoofs,  and  whenever  she  struck  out  in  one  direction,  she  was 
jerked  in  the  other.  In  this  way  her  spirit  was  gradually  sub- 
dued. 

As  to  little  Scaramouch  Tonish,  who  had  marred  the  whole 
scene  by  his  precipitancy,  he  had  been  more  successful  than  he 
deserved,  having  managed  to  catch  a  beautiful  cream-colored 
colt,  about  seven  months  old,  which  had  not  strength  to  keep 
up  with  its  companions.  The  mercurial  little  Frenchman  was 
beside  himself  with  exultation.  It  was  amusing  to  see  him 
with  his  prize.  The  colt  would  rear  and  kick,  and  struggle  to 
get  free,  when  Tonish  would  take  him  about  the  neck,  wrestle 
with  him,  jump  on  his  back,  and  cut  as  many  antics  as  a  mon- 
key with  a  kitten.  Nothing  surprised  me  more,  however,  than 
to  witness  how  soon  these  poor  animals,  thus  taken  from  the 
unbounded  freedom  of  the  prairie,  yielded  to  the  dominion  of 
man.  In  the  course  of  two  or  three  days  the  mare  and  colt 
went  with  the  led  horses,  and  became  quite  docile. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

FORDING  OF  THE  NORTH  FORK. — DREARY  SCENERY  OF  THE  CROSS 
TIMBER.— SCAMPER  OF  HORSES  IN  THE  NIGHT.— OSAGE  WAR 
PARTY.— EFFECTS  OF  A  PEACE  HARANGUE.—  BUFFALO.— WILD 
HORSE. 

RESUMING  our  march,  we  forded  the  North  Fork,  a  rapid 
stream,  and  of  a  purity  seldom  to  be  found  in  the  rivers  of  the 
prairies.  It  evidently  had  its  sources  in  high  land,  well  sup- 
plied with  springs.  After  crossing  the  river,  we  again  as- 
cended among  hills,  from  one  of  which  we  had  an  extensive 
view  over  this  belt  of  cross  timber,  and  a  cheerless  prospect  it 
was;  hill  beyond  hill,  forest  beyond  forest,  all  of  one  sad  rus- 
set hue— excepting  that  here  and  there  a  line  of  green  cotton- 


96  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

wood  trees,  sycamores,  and  willows,  marked  the  course  ol 
some  streamlet  through  a  valley.  A  procession  of  buffaloes, 
moving  slowly  up  the  profile  of  one  of  those  distant  hills, 
formed  a  characteristic  object  in  the  savage  scene.  To  the 
left,  the  eye  stretched  beyond  this  rugged  wilderness  of  hills, 
and  ravines,  and  ragged  forests,  to  a  prairie  about  ten  miles 
off,  extending  in  a  clear  blue  line  along  the  horizon.  It  was 
like  looking  from  among  rocks  and  breakers  upon  a  distant 
tract  of  tranquil  ocean.  Unluckily,  our  route  did  not  lie  in 
that  direction;  we  still  had  to  traverse  many  a  weary  mile  of 
the  "cross  timber." 

We  encamped  toward  evening  in  a  valley,  beside  a  scanty 
pool,  under  a  scattered  grove  of  elms,  the  upper  branches  of 
which  were  fringed  with  tufts  of  the  mystic  mistletoe.  In  the 
course  of  the  night,  the  wild  colt  whinnied  repeatedly;  and 
about  two  hours  before  day,  there  was  a  sudden  stampedo,  or 
rush  of  horses,  along  the  purlieus  of  the  camp,  with  a  snorting 
and  neighing,  and  clattering  of  hoofs,  that  startled  most  of  the 
rangers  from  their  sleep,  who  listened  in  silence,  until  the 
sound  died  away  like  the  rushing  of  a  blast.  As  usual,  the 
noise  was  at  first  attributed  to  some  party  of  marauding  In- 
dians, but  as  the  day  dawned,  a  couple  of  wild  horses  were 
seen  in  a  neighboring  meadow,  which  scoured  off  on  being 
approached.  It  was  now  supposed  that  a  gang  of  them  had 
dashed  through  our  camp  in  the  night.  A  general  mustering 
of  our  horses  took  place,  many  were  found  scattered  to  a  con- 
siderable distance,  and  several  were  not  to  be  found.  The 
prints  of  their  hoofs,  however,  appeared  deeply  dinted  in  the 
soil,  leading  off  at  full  speed  into  the  waste,  and  their  owners, 
putting  themselves  on  the  trail,  set  off  in  weary  search  of 
them. 

We  had  a  ruddy  daybreak,  but  the  morning  gathered  up 
gray  and  lowering,  with  indications  of  an  autumnal  storm. 
We  resumed  our  march  silently  and  seriously,  through  a 
rough  and  cheerless  country,  from  the  highest  points  of  which 
we  could  descry  large  prairies,  stretching  indefinitely  west/ 
ward.  After  travelling  for  two  or  three  hours,  as  we  were  tra- 
versing a  withered  prairie,  resembling  a  great  brown  heath, 
we  beheld  seven  Osage  warriors  approaching  at  a  distance. 
The  sight  of  any  human  being  in  this  lonely  wilderness  was 
interesting;  it  was  like  speaking  a  ship  at  sea.  One  of  the  In- 
dians took  the  lead  of  his  companions,  and  advanced  toward 
us  with  head  erect,  chest  thrown  forward,  and  a  free  and  noble 


A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  97 

mien.  He  was  a  fine-looking  fellow,  dressed  in  scarlet  frock 
and  fringed  leggings  of  deer  skin.  His  head  was  decorated 
with  a  white  tuft,  and  he  stepped  forward  with  something  of  a 
martial  air,  swaying  his  bow  and  arrows  in  one  hand. 

We  held  some  conversation  with  him  through  our  inter- 
preter, Beatte,  and  found  that  he  and  his  companions  had  been 
with  the  main  part  of  their  tribe  hunting  the  buffalo,  and 
had  met  with  great  success ;  and  he  informed  us,  that  in  the 
course  of  another  day's  march,  we  would  reach  the  prairies  on 
the  banks  of  the  Grand  Canadian,  and  find  plenty  of  game. 
He  added,  that  as  their  hunt  was  over,  and  the  hunters  on 
their  return  homeward,  he  and  his  comrades  had  set  out  on  a 
war  party,  to  waylay  and  hover  about  some  Pawnee  camp,  in 
hopes  of  carrying  off  scalps  or  horses. 

By  this  time  his  companions,  who  at  first  stood  aloof,  joined 
him.  Three  of  them  had  indifferent  fowling-pieces;  the  rest 
were  armed  with  bows  and  arrows.  I  could  not  but  admire 
the  finely  shaped  heads  and  busts  of  these  savages,  and  their 
graceful  attitudes  and  expressive  gestures,  as  they  stood  con- 
versing with  our  interpreter,  and  surrounded  by  a  cavalcade 
of  rangers.  We  endeavored  to  get  one  of  them  to  join  us,  as 
we  were  desirous  of  seeing  him  hunt  the  buffalo  with  his  bow 
and  arrow.  He  seemed  at  first  inclined  to  do  so,  but  was  dis- 
suaded by  his  companions. 

The  worthy  Commissioner  now  remembered  his  mission  as 
pacificator,  and  made  a  speech,  exhorting  them  to  abstain 
from  all  offensive  acts  against  the  Pawnees ;  informing  them 
of  the  plan  of  their  father  at  Washington,  to  put  an  end  to  all 
war  among  his  red  children ;  and  assuring  them  that  he  was 
sent  to  the  frontier  to  establish  a  universal  peace.  He  told 
them,  therefore,  to  return  quietly  to  their  homes,  with  the  cer- 
tainty that  the  Pawnees  would  no  longer  molest  them,  but 
would  soon  regard  them  as  brothers. 

The  Indians  listened  to  the  speech  with  their  customary 
silence  and  decorum;  after  which,  exchanging  a  few  words 
among  themselves,  they  bade  us  farewell,  and  pursued  their 
way  across  the  prairie. 

Fancying  that  I  saw  a  lurking  smile  in  the  countenance  of 
our  interpreter,  Beatte,  I  privately  inquired  what  the  Indians 
had  said  to  each  other  after  hearing  the  speech.  The  leader, 
he  said,  had  observed  to  his  companions,  that,  as  their  great 
father  intended  so  soon  to  put  an  end  to  all  warfare,  it  be- 
hooved them  to  make  the  most  of  the  little  time  that  was  left 


98  A  TOVR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

them.  So  they  had  departed,  with  redoubled  zeal,  to  pursue 
their  project  of  horse-stealing ! 

We  had  not  long  parted  from  the  Indians  before  we  dis- 
covered three  buffaloes  among  the  thickets  of  a  marshy  valley 
to  our  left.  I  set  off  with  the  Captain  and  several  rangers,  in 
pursuit  of  them.  Stealing  through  a  straggling  grove,  the 
Captain,  who  took  the  lead,  got  within  rifle-shot,  and  wounded 
one  of  them  in  the  flank.  They  all  three  made  of  in  headlong 
panic,  through  thickets  and  brushwood,  and  swamp  and  mire, 
bearing  down  every  obstacle  by  their  immense  weight.  The 
Captain  and  rangers  soon  gave  up  a  chase  which  threatened 
to  knock  up  their  horses;  I  had  got  upon  the  traces  of  the 
wounded  bull,  however,  and  was  in  hopes  of  getting  near 
enough  to  use  my  pistols,  the  only  weapons  with  which  I  was 
provided ;  but  before  I  could  effect  it,  he  reached  the  foot  of  a 
rocky  hill,  covered  with  post-oak  and  brambles,  and  plunged 
forward,  dashing  and  crashing  along,  with  neck  or  nothing 
fury,  where  it  would  have  been  madness  to  have  followed 
hi™ 

The  chase  had  led  me  so  far  on  one  side,  that  it  was  some 
time  before  I  regained  the  trail  of  our  troop.  As  I  was  slowly 
ascending  a  hill,  a  fine  black  mare  came  prancing  round  the 
summit,  and  was  close  to  me  before  she  was  aware.  At  sight 
of  me  she  started  back,  then  turning,  swept  at  full  speed  down 
into  the  valley,  and  up  the  opposite  hill,  with  flowing  mane 
and  tail,  and  action  free  as  air.  I  gazed  after  her  as  long  as 
she  was  in  sight,  and  breathed  a  wish  that  so  glorious  an 
animal  might  never  come  under  the  degrading  thraldom  of 
whip  and  curb,  but  remain  a  free  rover  of  the  prairies. 


CHAPTER  XXVH. 

FOUL  WEATHER  ENCAMPMENT.— ANECDOTES  OF  BEAR  HUNTING.— 
INDIAN  NOTIONS  ABOUT  OMENS.  —  SCRUPLES  RESPECTING  THE 
DEAD. 

ON  overtaking  the  troop,  I  found  it  encamping  in  a  rich 
bottom  of  woodland,  traversed  by  a  small  stream,  running 
between  deep  crumbling  banks.  A  sharp  cracking  off  of  rifles 
was  kept  up  for  some  time  in  various  directions,  upon  a  nu- 
merous flock  of  turkeys,  scampering  among  the  thickets;  or 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIE8.  99 

perched  upon  the  trees.  We  had  not  been  long  at  a  halt, 
when  a  drizzling  rain  ushered  in  the  autumnal  storm  that 
had  been  brewing.  Preparations  were  immediately  made  to 
weather  it ;  our  tent  was  pitched,  and  our  saddles,  saddlebags, 
packages  of  coffee,  sugar,  salt,  and  every  thing  else  that  could 
be  damaged  by  the  rain,  were  gathered  under  its  shelter.  Our 
men,  Beatte,  Tonish,  and  Antoine,  drove  stakes  with  forked 
ends  into  the  ground,  laid  poles  across  them  for  rafters,  and 
thus  made  a  shed  or  pent-house,  covered  with  bark  and  skins, 
sloping  toward  the  wind,  and  open  toward  the  fire.  The  ran- 
gers formed  similar  shelters  of  bark  and  skins,  or  of  blankets 
stretched  on  poles,  supported  by  forked  stakes,  with  great  fires 
in  front. 

These  precautions  were  well  timed.  The  rain  set  in  sullenly 
and  steadily,  and  kept  on,  with  slight  intermissions,  for  two 
days.  The  brook  which  flowed  peacefully  on  our  arrival, 
swelled  into  a  turbid  and  boiling  torrent,  and  the  forest  be- 
came little  better  than  a  mere  swamp.  The  men  gathered 
under  their  shelters  of  skins  and  blankets,  or  sat  cowering 
round  their  fires ;  while  columns  of  smoke  curling  up  among 
the  trees,  and  diffusing  themselves  in  the  air,  spread  a  blue 
haze  through  the  woodland.  Our  poor,  way-worn  horsey 
reduced  by  weary  travel  and  scanty  pasturage,  lost  all  re- 
maining spirit,  and  stood,  with  drooping  heads,  flagging  ears, 
and  half -closed  eyes,  dozing  and  steaming  in  the  rain,  while 
the  yellow  autumnal  leaves,  at  every  shaking  of  the  breeze, 
came  wavering  down  around  them. 

Notwithstanding  the  bad  weather,  however,  our  hunters 
were  not  idle,  but  during  the  intervals  of  the  rain,  sallied  forth 
on  horseback  to  prowl  through  the  woodland.  Every  now 
r,nd  then  the  sharp  report  of  a  distant  rifle  boded  the  death  of 
a  deer.  Venison  in  abundance  was  brought  in.  Some  busied  ^ 
themselves  under  the  sheds,  flaying  and  cutting  up  the  car- 
casses, or  round  the  fires  with  spits  and  camp  kettles,  and 
a  rude  kind  of  feasting,  or  rather  gormandizing,  prevailed 
throughout  the  camp.  The  axe  was  continually  at  work, 
and  wearied  the  forest  with  its  echoes.  Crash !  some  mighty 
tree  would  come  down;  in  a  few  minutes  its  limbs  would  be 
blazing  and  crackling  on  the  huge  camp  fires,  with  some 
luckless  deer  roasting  before  it,  that  had  once  sported  beneath 
its  shade. 

The  change  of  weather  had  taken  sharp  hold  of  our  little 
Frenchman.  His  meagre  frame,  composed  of  bones  and  whip- 


100  -A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

cord,  was  racked  with  rheumatic  pains  and  twinges.  He  had 
the  toothache — the  earache— his  face  was  tied  up— he  had 
shooting  pains  in  every  limb ;  yet  all  seemed  but  to  increase 
his  restless  activity,  and  he  was  in  an  incessant  fidget  about 
the  fire,  roasting,  and  stewing,  and  groaning,  and  scolding, 
and  swearing. 

Our  man  Beatte  returned  grim  and  mortified,  from  hunting. 
He  had  come  upon  a  bear  of  formidable  dimensions,  and 
wounded  him  with  a  rifle-shot.  The  bear  took  to  the  brook, 
which  was  swollen  and  rapid.  Beatte  dashed  hi  after  him  and 
assailed  him  in  the  rear  with  his  hunting-knife.  At  every 
blow  the  bear  turned  furiously  upon  him,  with  a  terrific  dis- 
play of  white  teeth.  Beatte,  having  a  foothold  in  the  brook, 
was  enabled  to  push  him  off  with  his  rifle,  and,  when  he 
turned  to  swim,  would  flounder  after,  and  attempt  to  ham- 
string him.  The  bear,  however,  succeeded  in  scrambling  off 
among  the  thickets,  and  Beatte  had  to  give  up  the  chase. 

This  adventure,  if  it  produced  no  game,  brought  up  at  least 
several  anecdotes,  round  the  evening  fire,  relative  to  bear 
hunting,  in  which  the  grizzly  bear  figured  conspicuously. 
This  powerful  and  ferocious  animal  is  a  favorite  theme  of 
hunter's  story,  both  among  red  and  white  men;  and  his 
enormous  claws  are  worn  round  the  neck  of  an  Indian  brave 
as  a  trophy  more  honorable  than  a  human  scalp.  He  is  now 
scarcely  seen  below  the  upper  prairies  and  the  skirts  of  the 
Eocky  Mountains.  Other  bears  are  formidable  when  wounded 
and  provoked,  but  seldom  make  battle  when  allowed  to  escape. 
The  grizzly  bear  alone,  of  all  the  animals  of  our  Western 
wilds,  is  prone  to  unprovoked  hostility.  His  prodigious  size 
and  strength  make  him  a  formidable  opponent ;  and  his  great 
tenacity  of  life  often  baffles  the  skill  of  the  hunter,  notwith- 
standing repeated  shots  of  the  rifle,  and  wounds  of  the  hunting- 
knife. 

One  of  the  anecdotes  related  on  this  occasion,  gave  a  picture 
of  the  accidents  and  hard  shifts  to  which  our  frontier  rovers 
are  inured.  A  hunter,  while  in  pursuit  of  a  deer,  fell  into  one 
of  those  deep  funnel-shaped  pits,  formed  on  the  prairies  by  the 
settling  of  the  waters  after  heavy  rains,  and  known  by  the 
name  of  sink-holes.  To  his  great  horror,  he  came  in  contact, 
at  the  bottom,  with  a  huge  grizzly  bear.  The  monster  grap- 
pled him ;  a  deadly  contest  ensued,  in  which  the  poor  hunter 
was  severely  torn  and  bitten,  and  had  a  leg  and  an  arm 
broken,  but  succeeded  in  killing  his  rugged  foe.  For  several 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  101 

da^s  he  remained  at  the  bottom  of  the  pit,  too  much  crippled 
to  move,  and  subsisting  on  the  raw  flesh  of  the  bear,  during 
which  tune  he  kept  his  wounds  open,  that  they  might  heal 
gradually  and  effectually.  He  was  at  length  enabled  to 
scramble  to  the  top  of  the  pit,  and  so  out  upon  the  open 
prairie.  With  great  difficulty  he  crawled  to  a  ravine,  formed 
by  a  stream,  then  nearly  dry.  Here  he  took  a  delicious 
draught  of  water,  which  infused  new  Me  into  him;  then 
dragging  himself  along  from  pool  to  pool,  he  supported  him- 
self by  small  fish  and  frogs. 

One  day  he  saw  a  wolf  hunt  down  and  kill  a  deer  in  the 
neighboring  prairie.  He-  immediately  crawled  forth  from  the 
ravine,  drove  off  the  wolf,  and,  lying  down  beside  the  carcass 
of  the  deer,  remained  there  until  he  made  several  hearty 
meals,  by  which  his  strength  was  much  recruited. 

Returning  to  the  ravine,  he  pursued  the  course  of  the  brook, 
until  it  grew  to  be  a  considerable  stream.  Down  this  he 
floated,  until  he  came  to  where  it  emptied  into  the  Mississippi. 
Just  at  the  mouth  of  the  stream,  he  found  a  forked  tree,  which 
he  launched  with  some  difficulty,  and,  getting  astride  of  it, 
committed  himself  to  the  current  of  the  mighty  river.  In  this 
way  he  floated  along,  until  he  arrived  opposite  the  fort  at 
Council  Bluffs.  Fortunately  he  arrived  there  in  the  daytime, 
otherwise  he  might  have  floated,  unnoticed,  past  this  solitary 
post,  and  perished  in  the  idle  waste  of  waters.  Being  descried 
from  the  fort,  a  canoe  was  sent  to  his  relief,  and  he  was 
brought  to  shore  more  dead  than  alive,  where  he  soon  re- 
covered from  his  wounds,  but  remained  maimed  for  life. 

Our  man  Beatte  had  come  out  of  his  contest  with  the  bear 
very  much  worsted  and  discomfited.  His  drenching  in  the 
brook,  together  with  the  recent  change  of  weather,  had 
brought  on  rheumatic  pains  in  his  limbs,  to  which  he  is 
subject.  Though  ordinarily  a  fellow  of  undaunted  spirit, 
and  above  all  hardship,  yet  he  now  sat  down  by  the  fire, 
gloomy  and  dejected,  and  for  once  gave  way  to  repining. 
Though  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  of  a  robust  frame,  and  appa- 
rently iron  constitution,  yet,  by  his  own  account,  he  was  little 
better  than  a  mere  wreck.  He  was,  in  fact,  a  living  monu- 
ment of  the  hardships  of  wild  frontier  life.  Baring  his  left 
arm,  he  showed  it  warped  and  contracted  by  a  former  attack 
of  rheumatism ;  a  malady  with  which  the  Indians  are  often 
afflicted ;  for  their  exposure  to  the  vicissitudes  of  the  elements 
does  not  produce  that  perfect  hardihood  and  insensibility  to 


102  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

the  changes  of  the  seasons  that  many  are  apt  to  imagine.  He 
bore  the  scars  of  various  maims  and  bruises ;  some  received  in 
hunting,  some  in  Indian  warfare.  His  right  arm  had  been 
broken  by  a  fall  from  his  horse ;  at  another  time  his  steed  had 
fallen  with  him,  and  crushed  his  left  leg. 

" I  am  all  broke  to  pieces  and  good  for  nothing,"  said  he ;  "I 
no  care  now  what  happen  to  me  any  more."  "However," 
added  he,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "for  all  that,  it  would  take 
a  pretty  strong  man  to  put  me  down,  anyhow." 

I  drew  from  him  various  particulars  concerning  himself, 
which  served  to  raise  him  in  my  estimation.  His  residence 
was  on  the  Neosho,  in  an  Osage  hamlet  or  neighborhood, 
under  the  superintendence  of  a  worthy  missionary  from  the 
banks  of  the  Hudson,  by  the  name  of  Requa,  who  was  endea- 
voring to  instruct  the  savages  in  the  art  of  agriculture,  and  to 
make  husbandmen  and  herdsmen  of  them.  I  had  visited  this 
agricultural  mission  of  Requa  in  the  course  of  my  recent  tour 
along  the  frontier,  and  had  considered  it  more  likely  to  pro- 
duce solid  advantages  to  the  poor  Indians  than  any  of  the 
mere  praying  and  preaching  missions  along  the  border. 

In  this  neighborhood,  Pierre  Beatte  had  his  little  farm,  his 
Indian  wife,  and  his  half-breed  children ;  and  aided  Mr.  Requa 
in  his  endeavors  to  civilize  the  habits,  and  meliorate  the  con- 
dition of  the  Osage  tribe.  Beatte  had  been  brought  up  a 
Catholic,  and  was  inflexible  in  his  religious  faith ;  he  could  not 
pray  with  Mr.  Requa,  he  said,  but  he  could  work  with  him, 
and  he  evinced  a  zeal  for  the  good  of  his  savage  relations  and 
neighbors.  Indeed,  though  his  father  had  been  French,  and 
he  himself  had  been  brought  up  in  communion  with  the 
whites,  he  evidently  was  more  of  an  Indian  in  his  tastes,  and 
his  heart  yearned  toward  his  mother's  nation.  When  he 
talked  to  me  of  the  wrongs  and  insults  that  the  poor  Indians 
suffered  in  their  intercourse  with  the  rough  settlers  on  the 
frontiers;  when  he  described  the  precarious  and  degraded 
state  of  the  Osage  tribe,  diminished  in  numbers,  broken  in 
spirit,  and  almost  living  on  sufferance  in  the  land  where  they 
once  figured  so  heroically,  I  could  see  his  veins  swell,  and  his 
nostrils  distend  with  indignation ;  but  he  would  check  the  feel- 
ing with  a  strong  exertion  of  Indian  self-command,  and,  in  a 
manner,  drive  it  back  into  his  bosom. 

He  did  not  hesitate  to  relate  an  instance  wherein  he  had 
joined  his  kindred  Osages,  in  pursuing  and  avenging  them- 
selves on  a  party  of  white  men  who  had  committed  a  flagrant 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  108 

outrage  upon  them ;  and  I  found,  in  the  encounter  that  took 
place,  Beatte  had  shown  himself  the  complete  Indian. 

He  had  more  than  once  accompanied  his  Osage  relations  in 
their  wars  with  the  Pawnees,  and  related  a  skirmish  which 
took  place  on  the  borders  of  these  very  hunting  grounds,  in 
which  several  Pawnees  were  killed.  We  should  pass  near  the 
place,  he  said,  in  the  course  of  our  tour,  and  the  unburied 
bones  and  skulls  of  the  slain  were  still  to  be  seen  there.  The 
surgeon  of  the  troop,  who  was  present  at  our  conversation, 
pricked  up  his  ears  at  this  intelligince.  He  was  something  of 
a  phrenologist,  and  offered  Beatte  a  handsome  reward  if  he 
would  procure  him  one  of  the  skulls. 

Beatte  regarded  him  for  a  moment  with  a  look  of  stern  sur- 
prise. 

"No !"  said  he  at  length,  "  dat  too  bad !  I  have  heart  strong 
enough — I  no  care  kill,  but  let  the  dead  alone  /" 

He  added,  that  once  in  travelling  with  a  party  of  white  men, 
he  had  slept  in  the  same  tent  with  a  doctor,  and  found  that  he 
had  a  Pawnee  skull  among  his  baggage :  he  at  once  renounced 
the  doctor's  tent,  and  his  fellowship.  "  He  try  to  coax  me," 
said  Beatte,  "but  I  say  no,  we  must  part— I  no  keep  such 
company." 

In  the  temporary  depression  of  his  spirits,  Beatte  gave  way 
to  those  superstitious  forebodings  to  which  Indians  are  prone. 
He  had  sat  for  some  time,  with  his  cheek  upon  his  hand, 
gazing  into  the  fire.  I  found  his  thoughts  were  wandering 
back  to  his  humble  home,  on  the  banks  of  the  Neosho ;  he  was 
sure,  he  said,  that  he  should  find  some  one  of  his  family  ill,  or 
dead,  on  his  return:  his  left  eye  had  twitched  and  twinkled 
for  two  days  past ;  an  omen  which  always  boded  some  misfor- 
tune of  the  kind. 

Such  are  the  trivial  circumstances  which,  when  magnified 
into  omens,  will  shake  the  souls  of  these  men  of  iron.  The 
least  sign  of  mystic  and  sinister  portent  is  sufficient  to  turn  a 
hunter  or  a  warrior  from  his  course,  or  to  fill  his  mind  with 
apprehensions  of  impending  evil.  It  is  this  superstitious  pro- 
pensity, common  to  the  solitary  and  savage  rovers  of  the 
wilderness,  that  gives  such  powerful  influence  to  the  prophet 
and  the  dreamer. 

The  Osages,  with  whom  Beatte  had  passed  much  of  his  life, 
retain  these  superstitious  fancies  and  rites  in  much  of  their 
original  force.  They  all  believe  in  the  existence  of  the  soul 
after  its  separation  from  the  body,  and  that  it  carries  with  it 


104  ^  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAI&IS8. 

all  its  mortal  tastes  and  habitudes.  At  an  Osage  village  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Beatte,  one  of  the  chief  warriors  lost  an  only 
child,  a  beautiful  girl,  of  a  very  tender  age.  All  her  playthings 
were  buried  with  her.  Her  favorite  little  horse,  also,  was 
killed,  and  laid  in  the  grave  beside  her,  that  she  might  have  it 
to  ride  in  the  land  of  spirits. 

I  will  here  add  a  little  story,  which  I  picked  up  in  the  course 
of  my  tour  through  Beatte's  country,  and  which  illustrates  the 
superstitions  of  his  Osage  kindred.  A  large  party  of  Osages 
had  been  encamped  for  some  time  on  the  borders  of  a  fine 
stream,  called  the  Nickanansa.  Among  them  was  a  young 
hunter,  one  of  the  bravest  and  most  graceful  of  the  tribe,  who 
was  to  be  married  to  an  Osage  girl,  who,  for  her  beauty,  was 
called  the  Flower  of  the  Prairies.  The  young  hunter  left  her 
for  a  time  among  her  relatives  in  the  encampment,  and  went 
to  St.  Louis,  to  dispose  of  the  products  of  his  hunting,  and 
purchase  ornaments  for  his  bride.  After  an  absence  of  some 
weeks,  he  returned  to  the  banks  of  the  Nickanansa,  but  the 
camp  was  no  longer  there ;  and  the  bare  frames  of  the  lodges 
and  the  brands  of  extinguished  fires  alone  marked  the  place. 
At  a  distance  he  beheld  a  female  seated,  as  if  weeping,  by  the 
side  of  the  stream.  It  was  his  affianced  bride.  He  ran  to  em- 
brace her,  but  she  turned  mournfully  away.  He  dreaded  lest 
some  evil  had  befallen  the  camp. 

'  Where  are  our  people?"  cried  he. 

'  They  are  gone  to  the  banks  of  the  Wagrushka." 

'  And  what  art  thou  doing  here  alone?" 

'  Waiting  for  thee." 

'  Then  let  us  hasten  to  join  our  people  on  the  banks  of  the 
Wagrushka." 

He  gave  her  his  pack  to  cany,  and  walked  ahead,  according 
to  the  Indian  custom. 

They  came  to  where  the  smoke  of  the  distant  camp  was  seen 
rising  from  the  woody  margin  of  the  stream.  The  girl  seated 
herself  at  the  foot  of  a  tree.  "  It  is  not  proper  for  us  to  return 
together,"  said  she;  "  I  will  wait  here." 

The  young  hunter  proceeded  to  the  camp  alone,  and  was  re- 
ceived by  his  relations  with  gloomy  countenances. 

"What  evil  has  happened,"  said  he,  "that  ye  are  all  so 
sad?" 

No  one  replied. 

He  turned  to  his  favorite  sister,  and  bade  her  go  forth,  seek 
his  bride,  and  conduct  her  to  the  camp. 


A  TOUR  ON  TE&  P&AtiaM.  105 

"Alas!"  cried  she,  "how  shall  I  seek  her?  She  died  a  few 
days  since." 

The  relations  of  the  young  girl  now  surrounded  him,  weep- 
ing and  wailing;  but  he  refused  to  believe  the  dismal  tidings. 
"But  a  few  moments  since,"  cried  he,  "  I  left  her  alone  and  in 
health;  come  with  me,  and  I  will  conduct  you  to  her." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  tree  where  she  had  seated  herself,  but 
she  was  no  longer  there,  and  his  pack  lay  on  the  ground.  The 
fatal  truth  struck  him  to  the  heart ;  he  fell  to  the  ground  dead. 

I  give  this  simple  story  almost  in  the  words  in  which  it  was 
related  to  me,  as  I  lay  by  the  fire  in  an  evening  encampment 
on  the  banks  of  the  haunted  stream  where  it  is  said  to  have 
happened. 


CHAPTER  XXVHI. 

A  SECRET  EXPEDITION.— DEER  BLEATING. —MAGIC  BALLS. 

ON  the  following  morning  we  were  rejoined  by  the  rangers 
who  had  remained  at  the  last  encampment,  to  seek  for  the 
stray  horses.  They  had  tracked  them  for  a  considerable  dis- 
tance through  bush  and  brake,  and  across  streams,  until  they 
found  them  cropping  the  herbage  on  the  edge  of  a  prairie. 
Their  heads  were  in  the  direction  of  the  fort,  and  they  were 
evidently  grazing  their  way  homeward,  heedless  of  the  un- 
bounded freedom  of  the  prairie  so  suddenly  laid  open  to  them. 

About  noon  the  weather  held  up,  and  I  observed  a  mysteri- 
ous consultation  going  on  between  our  half-breeds  and  Tonish ; 
it  ended  in  a  request  that  we  would  dispense  with  the  services 
of  the  latter  for  a  few  hours,  and  permit  him  to  join  his  com- 
rades in  a  grand  foray.  We  objected  that  Tonish  was  too 
much  disabled  by  aches  and  pains  for  such  an  undertaking; 
but  he  was  wild  with  eagerness  for  the  mysterious  enterprise, 
and,  when  permission  was  given  him)  seemed  to  forget  all  his 
ailments  in  an  instant. 

In  a  short  time  the  trio  were  equipped  and  on  horseback ; 
with  rifles  on  their  shoulders  and  handkerchiefs  twisted  round 
their  heads,  evidently  bound  for  a  grand  scamper.  As  they 
passed  by  the  different  lodges  of  the  camp,  the  vainglorious 
little  Frenchman  could  not  help  boasting  to  the  right  and  left 
of  the  great  things  he  was  about  to  achieve ;  though  the  taci- 
turn Beatte,  who  rode  in  advance,  would  every  now  and  then 


106  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

check  his  horse,  and  look  back  at  him  with  an  air  of  stern  re- 
buke. It  was  hard,  however,  to  make  the  loquacious  Tonish 
play  "Indian." 

Several  of  the  hunters,  likewise,  sallied  forth,  and  the  prime 
old  woodman,  Ryan,  came  back  early  in  the  afternoon,  with 
ample  spoil,  having  killed  a  buck  and  two  fat  does.  I  drew 
near  to  a  group  of  rangers  that  had  gathered  round  him  as  he 
stood  by  the  spoil,  and  found  they  were  discussing  the  merits 
of  a  stratagem  sometimes  used  in  deer  hunting.  This  consists 
in  imitating,  with  a  small  instrument  called  a  bleat,  the  cry  of 
the  fawn,  so  as  to  lure  the  doe  within  reach  of  the  rifle.  There 
are  bleats  of  various  kinds,  suited  to  calm  or  windy  weather, 
and  to  the  age  of  the  fawn.  The  poor  animal,  deluded  by 
them,  in  its  anxiety  about  its  young,  will  sometimes  advance 
close  up  to  the  hunter.  "  I  once  bleated  a  doe,"  said  a  young 
hunter,  "until  it  came  within  twenty  yards  of  me,  and  pre- 
sented a  sure  mark.  I  levelled  my  rifle  three  times,  but  had 
not  the  heart  to  shoot,  for  the  poor  doe  looked  so  wistfully, 
that  it  in  a  manner  made  my  heart  yearn.  I  thought  of  my 
own  mother,  and  how  anxious  she  used  to  be  about  me  when  I 
was  a  child ;  so  to  put  an  end  to  the  matter,  I  gave  a  halloo, 
and  started  the  doe  out  of  rifle-shot  in  a  moment." 

"  And  you  did  right,"  cried  honest  old  Ryan.  "  For  my  part, 
I  never  could  bring  myself  to  bleating  deer.  I've  been  with 
hunters  who  had  bleats,  and  have  made  them  throw  them 
away.  It  is  a  rascally  trick  to  take  advantage  of  a  mother's 
love  for  her  young." 

Toward  evening  our  three  worthies  returned  from  their 
mysterious  foray.  The  tongue  of  Tonish  gave  notice  of  their 
approach  long  before  they  came  in  sight ;  for  he  was  vocifer- 
ating at  the  top  of  his  lungs,  and  rousing  the  attention  of  the 
whole  camp.  The  lagging  gait  and  reeking  flanks  of  their 
horses,  gave  evidence  of  hard  riding;  and,  on  nearer  approach, 
we  found  them  hung  round  with  meat  like  a  butcher's  sham- 
bles. In  fact,  they  had  been  scouring  an  immense  prairie  that 
extended  beyond  the  forest,  and  which  was  covered  with  herds 
of  buffalo.  Of  this  prairie,  and  the  animals  upon  it,  Beatte 
had  received  intelligence  a  few  days  before,  in  his  conversation 
with  the  Osages,  but  had  kept  the  information  a  secret  from 
the  rangers,  that  he  and  his  comrades  might  have  the  first  dash 
at  the  game.  They  had  contented  themselves  with  killing  four ; 
though,  if  Tonish  might  be  believed,  they-  might  have  slain 
them  by  scores. 


4  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  107 

These  tidings,  and  the  buffalo  meat  brought  home  in  evi- 
dence, spread  exultation  through  the  camp,  and  every  one 
looked  forward  with  joy  to  a  buffalo  hunt  on  the  prairies. 
Tonish  was  again  the  oracle  of  the  camp,  and  held  forth  by  the 
hour  to  a  knot  of  listeners,  crouched  round  the  fire,  with  their 
shoulders  up  to  their  ears.  He  was  now  more  boastful  than 
ever  of  his  skill  as  a  marksman.  AJ1  his  want  of  success  in  the 
early  part  of  our  march  he  attributed  to  being  "out  of  luck," 
if  not  "spell-bound;"  and  finding  himself  listened  to  with  ap- 
parent credulity,  gave  an  instance  of  the  kind,  which  he  de- 
clared had  happened  to  himself,  but  which  was  evidently  a 
tale  picked  up  among  his  relations,  the  Osages. 

According  to  this  account,  when  about  fourteen  years  of  age, 
as  he  was  one  day  hunting,  he  saw  a  white  deer  come  out  from 
a  ravine.  Crawling  near  to  get  a  shot,  he  beheld  another  and 
another  come  forth,  until  there  were  seven,  all  as  white  as 
snow.  Having  crept  sufficiently  near,  he  singled  one  out  and 
fired,  but  without  effect;  the  deer  remained  unfrightened.  He 
loaded  and  fired  again  and  missed.  Thus  he  continued  firing 
and  missing  until  all  his  ammunition  was  expended,  and  the 
deer  remained  without  a  wound.  He  returned  home  despair- 
ing of  his  skill  as  a  marksman,  but  was  consoled  by  an  old 
Osage  hunter.  These  white  deer,  said  he,  have  a  charmed  life, 
and  can  only  be  killed  by  bullets  of  a  particular  kind. 

The  old  Indian  cast  several  balls  for  Tonish,  but  would  not 
suffer  him  to  be  present  on  the  occasion,  nor  inform  him  of  the 
ingredients  and  mystic  ceremonials. 

Provided  with  these  balls,  Tonish  again  set  out  in  quest  of 
the  white  deer,  and  succeeded  in  finding  them.  He  tried  at 
first  with  ordinary  balls,  but  missed  as  before.  A  magic  ball, 
however,  immediately  brought  a  fine  buck  to  the  ground. 
Whereupon  the  rest  of  the  herd  immediately  disappeared  and 
were  never  seen  again. 

October  29th. — The  morning  opened  gloomy  and  lowering; 
but  toward  eight  o'clock  the  sun  struggled  forth  and  lighted 
up  the  forest,  and  the  notes  of  the  bugle  gave  signal  to  pre- 
pare for  marching.  Now  began  a  scene  of  bustle,  and  clamor, 
and  gayety.  Some  were  scampering  and  brawling  after 
their  horses,  some  were  riding  in  bare-backed,  and  driving 
in  the  horses  of  their  comrades.  Some  were  stripping  the 
poles  of  the  wet  blankets  that  had  served  for  shelters ;  others 
packing  up  with  all  possible  dispatch,  and  loading  the  bag- 
gage horses  as  they  arrived,  while  others  were  cracking  off 


108  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

their  damp  rifles  and  charging  them  afresh,  to  be  ready  foi 
the  sport. 

About  ten  o'clock,  we  began  our  march.  I  loitered  in  the 
rear  of  the  troop  as  it  forded  the  turbid  brook,  and  denied 
through  the  labyrinths  of  the  forest.  I  always  felt  disposed  to 
linger  until  the  last  straggler  disappeared  among  the  trees  and 
the  distant  note  of  the  bugle  died  upon  the  ear,  that  I  might 
behold  the  wilderness  relapsing  into  silence  and  solitude.  In 
the  present  instance,  the  deserted  scene  of  our  late  bustling  en- 
campment had  a  forlorn  and  desolate  appearance.  The  sur- 
rounding forest  had  been  in  many  places  trampled  into  a  quag- 
mire. Trees  felled  and  partly  hewn  in  pieces,  and  scattered  in 
huge  fragments ;  tent-poles  stripped  of  their  covering;  smoul- 
dering fires,  with  great  morsels  of  roasted  venison  and  buffalo 
meat,  standing  in  wooden  spits  before  them,  hacked  and 
slashed  by  the  knives  of  hungry  hunters ;  while  around  were 
strewed  the  hides,  the  horns,  the  antlers,  and  bones  of  buffa- 
loes and  deer,  with  uncooked  joints,  and  unplucked  turkeys, 
left  behind  with  that  reckless  improvidence  and  wastefulness 
which  young  hunters  are  apt  to  indulge  when  in  a  neighbor- 
hood where  game  abounds.  In  the  meantime  a  score  or  two 
of  turkey-buzzards,  or  vultures,  were  already  on  the  wing, 
wheeling  their  magnificent  flight  high  in  the  air,  and  preparing 
for  a  descent  upon  the  camp  as  soon  as  it  should  be  abandoned. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

I 

THE  GRAND  PRAIRIE. — A  BUFFALO  HUNT. 

AFTER  proceeding  about  two  hours  in  a  southerly  direction, 
we  emerged  toward  mid-day  from  the  dreary  belt  of  the  Cross 
Timber,  and  to  our  infinite  delight  beheld  "the  great  Prairie" 
stretching  to  the  right  and  left  before  us.  We  could  distinctly 
trace  the  meandering  course  of  the  main  Canadian,  and  various 
smaller  streams,  by  the  strips  of  green  forest  that  bordered 
them.  The  landscape  was  vast  and  beautiful.  There  is  always 
an  expansion  of  feeling  in  looking  upon  these  boundless  and 
fertile  wastes ;  but  I  was  doubly  conscious  of  it  after  emerging 
from  our  "close  dungeon  of  innumerous  boughs." 

Prom  a  rising  ground  Beatte  pointed  out  the  place  where  he 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  109 

and  Ms  comrades  had  killed  the  buffaloes ;  and  we  beheld  sev- 
eral black  objects  moving  in  the  distance,  which  he  said  were 
part  of  the  herd.  The  Captain  determined  to  shape  his  course 
to  a  woody  bottom  about  a  mile  distant,  and  to  encamp  there 
for  a  day  or  two,  by  way  of  having  a  regular  buffalo  hunt,  and 
getting  a  supply  of  provisions.  As  the  troop  denied  along  the 
slope  of  the  hill  toward  the  camping  ground,  Beatte  proposed 
to  my  messmates  and  myself,  that  we  should  put  ourselves 
under  his  guidance,  promising  to  take  us  where  we  should 
have  plenty  of  sport.  Leaving  the  Line  of  march,  there- 
fore, we  diverged  toward  the  prairie ;  traversing  a  small  val- 
ley, and  ascending  a  gentle  swell  of  land.  As  we  reached 
the  summit,  we  beheld  a  gang  of  wild  horses  about  a  mile  off. 
Beatte  was  immediately  on  the  alert,  and  no  longer  thought  of 
Buffalo  hunting.  He  was  mounted  on  his  powerful  half -wild 
horse,  with  a  lariat  coiled  at  the  saddle-bow,  and  set  off  in  pur- 
suit; while  we  remained  on  a  rising  ground  watching  his  ma- 
noeuvres with  great  solicitude.  Taking  advantage  of  a  strip  of 
woodland,  he  stole  quietly  along,  so  as  to  get  close  to  them  be- 
fore he  was  perceived.  The  moment  they  caught  sight  of  him 
a  grand  scamper  took  place.  We  watched  him  skirting  along 
the  horizon  like  a  privateer  in  full  chase  of  a  merchantman ; 
at  length  he  passed  over  the  brow  of  a  ridge,  and  down  into  a 
shallow  valley ;  in  a  few  moments  he  was  on  the  opposite  hill, 
and  close  upon  one  of  the  horses.  He  was  soon  head  and  head, 
and  appeared  to  be  trying  to  noose  his  prey ;  but  they  both  dis- 
appeared again  below  the  hill,  and  we  saw  no  more  of  them. 
It  turned  out  afterward  that  he  had  noosed  a  powerful  horse, 
but  could  not  hold  him,  and  had  lost  his  lariat  in  the  attempt. 

While  we  were  waiting  for  his  return,  we  perceived  two 
buffalo  bulls  descending  a  slope,  toward  a  stream,  which 
wound  through  a  ravine  fringed  with  trees.  The  young  Count 
and  myself  endeavored  to  get  near  them  under  covert  of  the 
trees.  They  discovered  us  while  we  were  yet  three  or  four 
hundred  yards  off,  and  turning  about,  retreated  up  the  rising 
ground.  We  urged  our  horses  across  the  ravine,  and  gave 
chase.  The  immense  weight  of  head  and  shoulders  causes  the 
buffalo  to  labor  heavily  up  hill ;  but  it  accelerates  his  descent. 
We  had  the  advantage,  therefore,  and  gained  rapidly  upon  the 
fugitives,  though  it  was  difficult  to  get  our  horses  to  approach 
them,  their  very  scent  inspiring  them  with  terror.  The  Count, 
who  had  a  double-barrelled  gun  loaded  with  ball,  fired,  but  it 
missed.  The  bulls  now  altered  their  course,  and  galloped  down 


110  4   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

hill  with  headlong  rapidity.  As  they  ran  in  different  direc- 
tions, we  each  singled  out  one  and  separated.  I  was  provided 
with  a  brace  of  veteran  brass-barrelled  pistols,  which  I  had 
borrowed  at  Fort  Gibson,  and  which  had  evidently  seen  some 
service.  Pistols  are  very  effective  in  buffalo  hunting,  as  the 
hunter  can  ride  up  close  to  the  animal,  and  fire  at  it  while  at 
full  speed ;  whereas  the  long  heavy  rifles  used  on  the  frontier, 
cannot  be  easily  managed,  nor  discharged  with  accurate  aim 
from  horseback.  My  object,  therefore,  was  to  get  within  ^ 
pistol  shot  of  the  buffalo.  This  was  no  very  easy  matter.  I 
was  well  mounted  on  a  horse  of  excellent  speed  and  bottom, 
that  seemed  eager  for  the  chase,  and  soon  overtook  the  game ; 
but  the  moment  he  came  nearly  parallel,  he  would  keep  sheer- 
ing off,  with  ears  forked  and  pricked  forward,  and  every 
symptom  of  aversion  and  alarm.  It  was  no  wonder.  Of  all 
animals,  a  buffalo,  when  close  pressed  by  the  hunter,  has  an 
aspect  the  most  diabolical.  His  two  short  black  horns,  curve 
out  of  a  huge  frontier  of  shaggy  hair;  his  eyes  glow  like  coals; 
his  mouth  is  open,  his  tongue  parched  and  drawn  up  into  a 
half  crescent ;  his  tail  is  erect,  and  tufted  and  whisking  about 
in  the  air,  he  is  a  perfect  picture  of  mingled  rage  and  terror. 

It  was  with  difficulty  I  urged  my  horse  sufficiently  near, 
when,  taking  aim,  to  my  chagrin,  both  pistols  missed  fire. 
Unfortunately  the  locks  of  these  veteran  weapons  were  so 
much  worn,  that  in  the  gallop,  the  pruning  had  been  shaken 
out  of  the  pans.  At  the  snapping  of  the  last  pistol  I  was  close 
upon  the  buffalo,  when,  in  his  despair,  he  turned  round  with  a 
sudden  snort  and  rushed  upon  me.  My  horse  wheeled  about 
as  H  on  a  pivot,  made  a  convulsive  spring,  and,  as  I  had  been 
leaning  on  one  side  with  pistol  extended,  I  came  near  being 
thrown  at  the  feet  of  the  buffalo. 

Three  or  four  bounds  of  the  horse  carried  us  out  of  the  reach 
of  the  enemy ;  who,  having  merely  turned  in  desperate  self- 
defence,  quickly  resumed  his  flight.  As  soon  as  I  could  gather 
in  my  panic-stricken  horse,  and  prime  the  pistols  afresh,  I 
again  spurred  in  pursuit  of  the  buffalo,  who  had  slackened  his 
speed  to  take  breath.  On  my  approach  he  again  set  off  full 
tilt,  heaving  himself  forward  with  a  heavy  rolling  gallop,  dash- 
ing with  headlong  precipitation  through  brakes  and  ravines, 
while  several  deer  and  wolves,  startled  from  their  coverts  by 
bis  thundering  career,  ran  helter-skelter  to  right  and  left  across 
the  waste. 

A  gallop  across  the  prairies  in  pursuit  of  game  is  by  no 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  HI 

means  so  smooth  a  career  as  those  may  imagine,  who  have 
only  the  idea  of  an  open  level  plain.  It  is  true,  the  prairies  of 
the  hunting  ground  are  not  so  much  entangled  with  flowering 
plants  and  long  herbage  as  the  lower  prairies,  and  are  princi- 
pally covered  with  short  buffalo  grass ;  but  they  are  diversi- 
fied by  hill  and  dale,  and  where  most  level,  are  apt  to  be  cut 
up  by  deep  rifts  and  ravines,  made  by  torrents  after  rains; 
and  which,  yawning  from  an  even  surface,  are  almost  like 
pitfalls  in  the  way  of  the  hunter,  checking  him  suddenly,  when 
in  full  career,  or  subjecting  him  to  the  risk  of  limb  and  life. 
The  plains,  too,  are  beset  by  burrowing  holes  of  small  animals, 
in  which  the  horse  is  apt  to  sink  to  the  fetlock,  and  throw  both 
himself  and  his  rider.  The  late  rain  had  covered  some  parts 
of  the  prairie,  where  the  ground  was  hard,  with  a  thin  sheet 
of  water,  through  which  the  horse  had  to  splash  his  way.  In, 
other  parts  there  were  innumerable  shallow  hollows,  eight  01 
ten  feet  in  diameter,  made  by  the  buffaloes,  who  wallow  in 
sand  and  mud  like  swine.  These  being  filled  with  water, 
shone  like  mirrors,  so  that  the  horse  was  continually  leaping 
over  them  or  springing  on  one  side.  We  had  reached,  too,  a 
rough  part  of  the  prairie,  very  much  broken  and  cut  up ;  the 
buffalo,  who  was  running  for  life,  took  no  heed  to  his  course, 
plunging  down  break-neck  ravines,  where  it  was  necessary  to 
skirt  the  borders  in  search  of  a  safer  descent.  At  length  we 
came  to  where  a  winter  stream  had  torn  a  deep  chasm  across 
the  whole  prairie,  leaving  open  jagged  rocks,  and  forming  a 
long  glen  bordered  by  steep  crumbling  cliffs  of  mingled  stone» 
and  clay.  Down  one  of  these  the  buffalo  flung  himself ,  half 
tumbling,  half  leaping,  and  then  scuttled  along  the  bottom; 
while  I,  seeing  all  further  pursuit  useless,  pulled  up,  and 
gazed  quietly  after  him  from  the  border  of  the  cliff,  until  he 
disappeared  amidst  the  windings  of  the  ravine. 

Nothing  now  remained  but  to  turn  my  steed  and  rejoin  my 
companions.  Here  at  first  was  some  little  difficulty.  Tho 
ardor  of  the  chase  had  betrayed  me  into  a  long,  heedless  gallop. 
I  now  found  myself  in  the  midst  of  a  lonely  waste,  in  which 
the  prospect  was  bounded  by  undulating  swells  of  land,  naked 
and  uniform,  where,  from  the  deficiency  of  landmarks  and 
distinct  features,  an  inexperienced  man  may  become  be- 
wildered, and  lose  his  way  as  readily  as  in  the  wastes  of  the 
ocean.  The  day,  too,  was  overcast,  so  that  I  could  not  guide 
myself  by  the  sun;  my  only  mode  was  to  retrace  the  track 
my  horse  had  made  in  coming,  though  this  I  would  often 


112  A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

lose  sight  of,  where  the  ground  was  covered  with  parched 
herbage. 

To  one  unaccustomed  to  it,  there  is  something  inexpressibly 
lonely  in  the  solitude  of  a  prairie.  The  loneliness  of  a  forest 
seems  nothing  to  it.  There  the  view  is  shut  in  by  trees,  and 
the  imagination  is  left  free  to  picture  some  livelier  scene  be- 
yond. But  here  we  have  an  immense  extent  of  landscape 
without  a  sign  of  human  existence.  We  have  the  conscious- 
ness of  being  far,  far  beyond  the  bounds  of  human  habita- 
tation;  we  feel  as  if  moving  in  the  midst  of  a  desert  world. 
As  my  horse  lagged  slowly  back  over  the  scenes  of  our  late 
scamper,  and  the  delirium  of  the  chase  had  passed  away,  1 
was  peculiarly  sensible  to  these  circumstances.  The  silence  of 
the  waste  was  now  and  then  broken  by  the  cry  of  a  distant 
flock  of  pelicans,  stalking  like  spectres  about  a  shallow  pool ; 
sometimes  by  the  sinister  croaking  of  a  raven  in  the  air,  while 
occasionally  a  scoundrel  wolf  would  scour  off  from  before  me : 
and,  having  attained  a  safe  distance,  would  sit  down  and  howl 
and  whine  with  tones  that  gave  a  dreariness  to  the  surround- 
ing solitude. 

After  pursuing  my  way  for  some  time,  I  descried  a  horseman 
on  the  edge  of  a  distant  hill,  and  soon  recognized  him  to  be  the 
Count.  He  had  been  equally  unsuccessful  with  myself;  we 
were  shortly  after  rejoined  by  our  worthy  comrade,  the  Vir- 
tuoso, who,  with  spectacles  on  nose,  had  made  two  or  three 
ineffectual  shots  from  horseback. 

We  determined  not  to  seek  the  camp  until  we  had  made 
one  more  effort.  Casting  our  eyes  about  the  surrounding 
waste,  we  descried  a  herd  of  buffalo  about  two  miles  dis- 
tant, scattered  apart,  and  quietly  grazing  near  a  small  strip 
of  trees  and  bushes.  It  required  but  little  stretch  of  fancy 
to  picture  them  so  many  cattle  grazing  on  the  edge  of  a 
common,  and  that  the  grove  might  shelter  some  lowly  farm- 
house. 

We  now  formed  our  plan  to  circumvent  the  herd,  and  by 
getting  on  the  other  side  of  them,  to  hunt  them  in  the  direction 
where  we  knew  our  camp  to  be  situated:  otherwise  the  pursuit 
might  take  us  to  such  a  distance  as  to  render  it  impossible  to 
find  our  way  back  before  nightfall.  Taking  a  wide  circuit, 
therefore,  we  moved  slowly  and  cautiously,  pausing  occa- 
sionally, when  we  saw  any  of  the  herd  desist  from  grazing. 
The  wind  fortunately  set  from  them,  otherwise  they  might 
have  scented  us  and  have  taken  the  alarm.  In  this  way  we 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  H3 

succeeded  in  getting  round  the  herd  without  disturbing  it. 
It  consisted  of  about  forty  head,  bulls,  cows,  and  calves. 
Separating  to  some  distance  from  each  other,  we  now  ap- 
proached slowly  in  a  parallel  line,  hoping  by  degrees  to  steal 
near  without  exciting  attention.  They  began,  however,  to 
move  off  quietly,  stopping  at  every  step  or  two  to  graze,  when 
suddenly  a  bull  that,  unobserved  by  us,  had  been  taking  his 
siesta  under  a  clump  of  trees  to  our  left,  roused  himself  from 
his  lair,  and  hastened  to  join  his  companions.  We  were  still 
at  a  considerable  distance,  but  the  game  had  taken  the  alarm. 
We  quickened  our  pace,  they  broke  into  a  gallop,  and  now 
commenced  a  full  chase. 

As  the  ground  was  level,  they  shouldered  along  with  great 
speed,  following  each  other  in  a  line ;  two  or  three  bulls  bring- 
ing up  the  rear,  the  last  of  whom,  from  his  enormous  size  and 
venerable  frontlet,  and  beard  of  sunburnt  hair,  looked  like  the 
patriarch  of  the  herd ;  and  as  if  he  might  long  have  reigned 
the  monarch  of  the  prairie. 

There  is  a  mixture  of  the  awful  and  the  comic  in  the  look  of 
these  huge  animals,  as  they  bear  their  great  bulk  forward, 
with  an  up  and  down  motion  of  the  unwieldy  head  and 
shoulders ;  their  tail  cocked  up  like  the  queue  of  Pantaloon  in 
a  pantomime,  the  end  whisking  about  in  a  fierce  yet  whimsical 
style,  and  their  eyes  glaring  venomously  with  an  expression 
of  fright  and  fury. 

For  some  time  I  kept  parallel  with  the  line,  without  being 
able  to  force  my  horse  within  pistol  shot,  so  much  had  he  been 
alarmed  by  the  assault  of  the  buffalo  in  the  preceding  chase. 
At  length  I  succeeded,  but  was  again  balked  by  my  pistols 
missing  fire.  My  companions,  whose  horses  were  less  fleet, 
and  more  way-worn,  could  not  overtake  the  herd ;  at  length 
Mr.  L.,  who  was  in  the  rear  of  the  line,  and  losing  ground, 
levelled  his  double-barrelled  gun,  and  fired  a  long  raking  shot. 
It  struck  a  buffalo  just  above  the  loins,  broke  its  back-bone, 
and  brought  it  to  the  ground.  He  stopped  and  alighted  to 
dispatch  his  prey,  when  borrowing  his  gun,  which  had  yet  a 
charge  remaining  in  it,  I  put  my  horse  to  his  speed,  again  over- 
took the  herd  which  was  thundering  along,  pursued  by  the 
Count.  With  my  present  weapon  there  was  no  need  of  urging 
my  horse  to  such  close  quarters;  galloping  along  parallel, 
therefore,  I  singled  out  a  buffalo,  and  by  a  fortunate  shot 
brought  it  down  on  the  spot.  The  ball  had  struck  a  vital  part; 
jt  could  not  move  from  the  place  where  it  fell,  but  lay  there 


114  A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

struggling  in  mortal  agony,  while  the  rest  of  the  herd  kept  on 
their  headlong  career  across  the  prairie. 

Dismounting,  I  now  fettered  my  horse  to  prevent  his  stray- 
ing, and  advanced  to  contemplate  my  victim.  I  am  nothing  of 
a  sportsman;  I  had  been  prompted  to  this  unwonted  exploit  by 
the  magnitude  of  the  game,  and  the  excitement  of  an  adven- 
turous chase.  Now  that  the  excitement  was  over,  I  could  not 
but  look  with  commiseration  upon  the  poor  animal  that  lay 
struggling  and  bleeding  at  my  feet.  His  very  size  and  impor- 
tance, which  had  before  inspired  me  with  eagerness,  now 
increased  my  compunction.  It  seemed  as  if  I  had  inflicted 
pain  in  proportion  to  the  bulk  of  my  victim,  and  as  if  it  were 
a  hundred-fold  greater  waste  of  life  than  there  would  have 
been  in  the  destruction  of  an  animal  of  inferior  size. 

To  add  to  these  after-qualms  of  conscience,  the  poor  animal 
lingered  in  his  agony.  He  had  evidently  received  a  mortal 
wound,  but  death  might  be  long  in  coming.  It  would  not  do 
i/p  leave  him  here  to  be  torn  piecemeal,  while  yet  alive,  by  the 
wolves  that  had  already  snuffed  his  blood,  and  were  skulking 
and  howling  at  a  distance,  and  waiting  for  my  departure ;  and 
by  the  ravens  that  were  flapping  about,  croaking  dismally  in 
the  air.  It  became  now  an  act  of  mercy  to  give  him  his 
quietus,  and  put  him  out  of  his  misery.  I  primed  one  of  the 
pistols,  therefore,  and  advanced  close  up  to  the  buffalo.  To 
inflict  a  wound  thus  in  cold  blood,  I  found  a  totally  different 
thing  from  firing  in  the  heat  of  the  chase.  Taking  aim,  how- 
ever, just  behind  the  fore-shoulder,  my  pistol  for  once  proved 
true;  the  ball  must  have  passed  through  the  heart,  for  the 
animal  gave  one  convulsive  throe  and  expired. 

While  I  stood  meditating  and  moralizing  over  the  wreck  I 
had  so  wantonly  produced,  with  my  horse  grazing  near  me,  I 
was  rejoined  by  my  fellow-sportsman,  the  Virtuoso;  who, 
being  a  man  of  universal  adroitness,  and  withal,  more  experi- 
enced and  hardened  in  the  gentle  art  of  "  venerie,"  soon  man- 
aged to  carve  out  the  tongue  of  the  buffalo,  and  delivered  it  ta 
me  to  bear  back  to  the  camp  as  a  trophy. 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  U5 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A.  COMRADE  LOST.— A  SEARCH  FOR  THE  CAMP.— THE  COMMISSIONED 
THE  WILD  HORSE,  AND  THE  BUFFALO.— A  WOLF  SERENADE. 

OUR  solicitude  was  now  awakened  for  the  young  Count. 
With  his  usual  eagerness  and  impetuosity  he  had  persisted  in 
urging  his  jaded  horse  in  pursuit  of  the  herd,  unwilling  to 
return  without  having  likewise  killed  a  buffalo.  In  this  way 
he  had  kept  on  following  them,  hither  and  thither,  and 
occasionally  firing  an  ineffectual  shot,  until  by  degrees  horse- 
man and  herd  became  indistinct  in  the  distance,  and  at  length 
swelling  ground  and  strips  of  trees  and  thickets  hid  them 
entirely  from  sight. 

By  the  time  my  friend,  the  amateur,  joined  me,  the  young 
Count  had  been  long  lost  to  view.  We  held  a  consultation  on 
the  matter.  Evening  was  drawing  on.  Were  we  to  pursue 
him,  it  would  be  dark  before  we  should  overtake  him,  grant- 
ing we  did  not  entirely  lose  trace  of  him  in  the  gloom.  We 
should  then  be  too  much  bewildered  to  find  our  way  back  to 
the  encampment;  even  now,  our  return  would  be  difficult. 
We  determined,  therefore,  to  hasten  to  the  camp  as  speedily 
as  possible,  and  send  out  our  half-breeds,  and  some  of  the 
veteran  hunters,  skilled  in  cruising  about  the  prairies,  to 
search  for  our  companion. 

We  accordingly  set  forward  in  what  we  supposed  to  be  the 
direction  of  the  camp.  Our  weary  horses  could  hardly  be 
urged  beyond  a  walk.  The  twilight  thickened  upon  us;  the 
landscape  grew  gradually  indistinct ;  we  tried  in  vain  to  recog- 
nize various  landmarks  which  we  had  noted  in  the  morning. 
The  features  of  the  prairies  are  so  similar  as  to  baffle  the  eye 
of  any  but  an  Indian,  or  a  practised  woodman.  At  length 
night  closed  in.  We  hoped  to  see  the  distant  glare  of  camp- 
fires;  we  listened  to  catch  the  sound  of  the  bells  about  the 
necks  of  the  grazing  horses.  Once  or  twice  we  thought  we 
distinguished  them;  we  were  mistaken.  Nothing  was  to  be 
heard  but  a  monotonous  concert  of  insects,  with  now  and 
then  the  dismal  howl  of  wolves  mingling  with  the  night  breeze. 
We  began  to  think  of  halting  for  the  night,  and  bivouacking 
Under  the  lee  of  some  thicket.  We  had  implements  to  strike  a 


116  A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES 

light;  there  was  plenty  of  firewood  at  hand,  and  the  tongues 
of  our  buffaloes  would  furnish  us  with  a  repast. 

Just  as  we  were  preparing  to  dismount,  we  heard  the  report 
of  a  rifle,  and  shortly  after,  the  notes  of  the  bugle,  calling  up 
the  night  guard.  Pushing  forward  in  that  direction,  the  camp 
fires  soon  broke  on  our  sight,  gleaming  at  a  distance  from 
among  the  thick  groves  of  an  alluvial  bottom. 

As  we  entered  the  camp,  we  found  it  a  scene  of  rude  hun- 
ters' revelry  and  wassail.  There  had  been  a  grand  day's 
sport,  in  which  all  had  taken  a  part.  Eight  buffaloes  had  been 
killed;  roaring  fires  were  blazing  on  every  side;  all  hands 
were  feasting  upon  roasted  joints,  broiled  marrow-bones,  and 
the  juicy  hump,  far-famed  among  the  epicures  of  the  prairies. 
Eight  glad  were  we  to  dismount  and  partake  of  the  sturdy 
cheer,  for  we  had  been  on  our  weary  horses  since  morning 
without  tasting  food. 

As  to  our  worthy  friend,  the  Commissioner,  with  whom  we 
had  parted  company  at  the  outset  of  this  eventful  day,  we 
found  him  lying  in  a  corner  of  the  tent,  much  the  worse  for 
wear,  in  the  course  of  a  successful  hunting  match. 

It  seems  that  our  man,  Beatte,  in  his  zeal  to  give  the  Com- 
missioner an  opportunity  of  distinguishing  himself,  and  grati- 
fying his  hunting  propensities,  had  mounted  him  upon  his 
half -wild  horse,  and  started  him  in  pursuit  of  a  huge  buffalo 
bull,  that  had  already  been  frightened  by  the  hunters.  The 
horse,  which  was  fearless  as  his  owner,  and,  like  him,  had  a 
considerable  spice  of  devil  in  his  composition,  and  who, 
besides,  had  been  made  familiar  with  the  game,  no  sooner 
came  in  sight  and  scent  of  the  buffalo,  than  he  set  off  full 
speed,  bearing  the  involuntary  hunter  hither  and  thither,  and 
whither  he  would  not — up  hill  and  down  hill — leaping  pools 
and  brooks — dashing  through  glens  and  gullies,  until  he  came 
up  with  the  game.  Instead  of  sheering  off,  he  crowded  upon 
the  buffalo.  The  Commissioner,  almost  in  self-defence,  dis- 
charged both  barrels  of  a  double-barrelled  gun  into  the  enemy. 
The  broadside  took  effect,  but  was  not  mortal.  The  buffalo 
turned  furiously  upon  his  pursuer;  the  horse,  as  he  had  been 
taught  by  his  owner,  wheeled  off.  The  buffalo  plunged  after 
him.  The  worthy  Commissioner,  in  great  extremity,  drew 
bis  sole  pistol  from  his  holster,  fired  it  off  as  a  stern -chaser, 
shot  the  buffalo  full  in  the  breast,  and  brought  him  lumbering 
forward  to  the  earth. 

The  Commissioner  returned  to  camp,  lauded  on  all  sides  for 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  H7 

his  signal  exploit ;  but  grievously  battered  and  way-worn.  He 
had  been  a  hard  rider  perforce,  and  a  victor  in  spite  of  himself. 
He  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all  compliments  and  congratulations ; 
had  but  little  stomach  for  the  hunter's  fare  placed  before  him, 
and  soon  retreated  to  stretch  his  limbs  in  the  tent,  declaring 
that  nothing  should  tempt  him  again  to  mount  that  half  devil 
Indian  horse,  and  that  he  had  had  enough  of  buffalo  hunting 
for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

It  was  too  dark  now  to  send  any  one  in  search  of  the  young 
Count.  Guns,  however,  were  fired,  and  the  bugles  sounded 
from  time  to  time,  to  guide  him  to  the  camp,  if  by  chance  he 
should  straggle  within  hearing;  but  the  night  advanced  with- 
out his  making  his  appearance.  There  was  not  a  star  visible 
to  guide  him,  and  we  concluded  that  wherever  he  was,  he 
would  give  up  wandering  in  the  dark,  and  bivouac  until  day- 
break. 

It  was  a  raw,  overcast  night.  The  carcasses  of  the  buffaloes 
killed  in  the  vicinity  of  the  camp  had  drawn  about  it  an  un- 
usual number  of  wolves,  who  kept  up  the  most  forlorn  concert 
of  whining  yells,  prolonged  into  dismal  cadences  and  inflex- 
ions, literally  converting  the  surrounding  waste  into  a  howling 
wilderness.  Nothing  is  more  melancholy  than  the  midnight 
howl  of  a  wolf  on  a  prairie.  What  rendered  the  gloom  and 
wildness  of  the  night  and  the  savage  concert  of  the  neighbor- 
ing waste  the  more  dreary  to  us,  was  the  idea  of  the  lonely  and 
exposed  situation  of  our  young  and  inexperienced  comrade. 
We  trusted,  however,  that  on  the  return  of  daylight,  he  would 
find  his  way  back  to  the  camp,  and  then  all  the  events  of  the 
night  would  be  remembered  only  as  so  many  savory  gratifica- 
tions of  his  passion  for  adventure. 


CHAPTER 

A  HUNT  FOR  A  LOST  COMRADE. 

THE  morning  dawned,  and  an  hour  or  two  passed  without 
any  tidings  of  the  Count.  We  began  to  feel  uneasiness  lest," 
having  no  compass  to  aid  him,  he  might  perplex  himself  and 
wander  in  some  opposite  direction.  Stragglers  are  thus  often 
lost  for  days;  what  made  us  the  more  anxious  about  him 


118  A  TOUR  ON  TUB  PRAIRIES. 

that  he  had  no  provisions  with  him,  was  totally  unversed  in 
"woodcraft,"  and  liable  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  some  lurking 
or  straggling  party  of  savages. 

As  soon  as  our  people,  therefore,  had  made  their  breakfast, 
we  beat  up  for  volunteers  for  a  cruise  in  search  of  the  Count. 
A  dozen  of  the  rangers,  mounted  on  some  of  the  best  and 
freshest  horses,  and  armed  with  rifles,  were  soon  ready  to 
start ;  our  half-breeds  Beatte  and  Antoine  also,  with  our  little 
mongrel  Frenchman,  were  zealous  in  the  cause ;  so  Mr.  L.  and 
myself  taking  the  lead,  to  show  the  way  to  the  scene  of  our 
little  hunt  where  we  had  parted  company  with  the  Count,  we 
all  set  out  across  the  prairie.  A  ride  of  a  couple  of  miles 
brought  us  to  the  carcasses  of  the  two  buffaloes  we  had  killed. 
A  legion  of  ravenous  wolves  were  already  gorging  upon 
them.  At  our  approach  they  reluctantly  drew  off,  skulking 
with  a  caitiff  look  to  the  distance  of  a  few  hundred  yards,  and 
there  awaiting  our  departure,  that  they  might  return  to  their 
banquet. 

I  conducted  Beatte  and  Antoine  to  the  spot  whence  the 
young  Count  had  continued  the  chase  alone.  It  was  like 
putting  hounds  upon  the  scent.  They  immediately  distin- 
guished the  track  of  his  horse  amidst  the  trampings  of  the 
buffaloes,  and  set  off  at  a  round  pace,  following  with  the  eye 
in  nearly  a  straight  course,  for  upward  of  a  mile,  when  they 
came  to  where  the  herd  had  divided,  and  run  hither  and 
thither  about  a  meadow.  Here  the  track  of  the  horse's  hoofs 
wandered  and  doubled  and  often  crossed  each  other;  our  half- 
breeds  were  like  hounds  at  fault.  While  we  were  at  a  halt, 
waiting  until  they  should  unravel  the  maze,  Beatte  suddenly 
gave  a  short  Indian  whoop,  or  rather  yelp,  and  pointed  to  a 
distant  hill.  On  regarding  it  attentively,  we  perceived  a 
horseman  on  the  summit.  "It  is  the  Count!"  cried  Beatte, 
and  set  off  at  full  gallop,  followed  by  the  whole  company. 
In  a  few  moments  he  checked  his  horse.  Another  figure  on 
horseback  had  appeared  on  the  brow  of  the  hill.  This  com- 
pletely altered  the  case.  The  Count  had  wandered  off  alone ; 
no  other  person  had  been  missing  from  the  camp.  If  one  of 
these  horsemen  were  indeed  the  Count,  the  other  must  be  an 
Indian.  If  an  Indian,  in  all  probability  a  Pawnee.  Perhaps 
they  were  both  Indians ;  scouts  of  some  party  lurking  in  the 
vicinity.  While  these  and  other  suggestions  were  hastily  dis- 
cussed, the  two  horsemen  glided  down  from  the  profile  of  the 
hill,  and  we  lost  sight  of  them.  One  of  the  rangers  suggested 


A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  H9 

that  there  might  be  a  straggling  party  of  Pawnees  behind 
the  hill,  and  that  the  Count  might  have  fallen  into  their 
hands.  The  idea  had  an  electric  effect  upon  the  little  troop. 
In  an  instant  every  horse  was  at  full  speed,  the  half-breeds 
leading  the  way ;  the  young  rangers  as  they  rode  set  up  wild 
yelps  of  exultation  at  the  thoughts  of  having  a  brush  with  the 
Indians.  A  neck  or  nothing  gallop  brought  us  to  the  skirts  of 
the  hill,  and  revealed  our  mistake.  In  a  ravine  we  found  the 
two  horsemen  standing  by  the  carcass  of  a  buffalo  which  they 
had  killed.  They  proved  to  be  two  rangers,  who,  unperceived, 
had  left  the  camp  a  little  before  us,  and  had  come  here  in  a 
direct  line,  while  we  had  made  a  wide  circuit  about  the 
prairie. 

This  episode  being  at  an  end,  and  the  sudden  excitement 
being  over,  we  slowly  and  coolly  retraced  our  steps  to  the 
meadow;  but  it  was  some  time  before  our  half-breeds  could 
again  get  on  the  track  of  the  Count.  Having  at  length  found 
it,  they  succeeded  in  following  it  through  all  its  doublings, 
until  they  came  to  where  it  was  no  longer  mingled  with  the 
tramp  of  buffaloes,  but  became  single  and  separate,  wandering 
here  and  there  about  the  prairies,  but  always  tending  in  a 
direction  opposite  to  that  of  the  camp.  Here  the  Count  had 
evidently  given  up  the  pursuit  of  the  herd,  and  had  endeav- 
ored to  find  his  way  to  the  encampment,  but  had  become 
bewildered  as  the  evening  shades  thickened  around  him,  and 
had  completely  mistaken  the  points  of  the  compass. 

In  all  this  quest  our  half-breeds  displayed  that  quickness  of 
eye,  in  following  up  a  track,  for  which  Indians  are  so  noted. 
Beatte,  especially,  was  as  staunch  as  a  veteran  hound.  Some- 
times he  would  keep  forward  on  an  easy  trot ;  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  ground  a  little  ahead  of  his  horse,  clearly  distinguishing 
prints  in  the  herbage  which  to  me  were  invisible,  excepting 
on  the  closest  inspection.  Sometimes  he  would  pull  up  and 
walk  his  horse  slowly,  regarding  the  ground  intensely,  where 
to  my  eye  nothing  was  apparent.  Then  he  would  dismount, 
lead  his  horse  by  the  bridle,  and  advance  cautiously  step  by 
step,  with  his  face  bent  towards  the  earth,  just  catching,  here 
and  there,  a  casual  indication  of  the  vaguest  kind  to  guide 
him  onward.  In  some  places  where  the  soil  was  hard  and  the 
grass  withered,  he  would  lose  the  track  entirely,  and  wander 
backward  and  forward,  and  right  and  left,  in  search  of  it; 
returning  occasionally  to  the  place  where  he  had  lost  sight  of 
it,  to  take  a  new  departure.  If  this  failed  he  would  examine 


120  ^   TOUR  ON  THE  PRA1MS8. 

the  banks  of  the  neighboring  streams,  or  the  sandy  bottoms  of 
the  ravines,  in  hopes  of  finding  tracks  where  the  Count  had 
crossed.  When  he  again  came  upon  the  track,  he  would 
remount  his  horse,  and  resume  his  onward  course.  At  length, 
after  crossing  a  stream,  in  the  crumbling  banks  of  which  the 
hoofs  of  the  horse  were  deeply  dented,  we  came  upon  a  high 
dry  prairie,  where  our  half-breeds  were  completely  baffled. 
Not  a  foot-print  was  to  be  discerned,  though  they  searched  in 
every  direction;  and  Beatte,  at  length  coming  to  a  pause, 
shook  his  head  despondingly. 

Just  then  a  small  herd  of  deer,  roused  from  a  neighboring 
ravine,  came  bounding  by  us.  Beatte  sprang  from  his  horse, 
levelled  his  rifle,  and  wounded  one  slightly,  but  without  bring- 
ing it  to  the  ground.  The  report  of  the  rifle  was  almost 
immediately  followed  by  a  long  halloo  from  a  distance.  We 
looked  around,  but  could  see  nothing.  Another  long  halloo 
was  heard,  and  at  length  a  horseman  was  descried,  emerging 
out  of  a  skirt  of  forest.  A  single  glance  showed  him  to  be  the 
young  Count ;  there  was  a  universal  shout  and  scamper,  every 
one  setting  off  full  gallop  to  greet  him.  It  was  a  joyful  meet- 
ing to  both  parties;  for,  much  anxiety  had  been  felt  by  us 
all  on  account  of  his  youth  and  inexperience,  and  for  his  part, 
with  all  his  love  of  adventure,  he  seemed  right  glad  to  be  once 
more  among  his  friends. 

As  we  supposed,  he  had  completely  mistaken  his  course  on 
the  preceding  evening,  and  had  wandered  about  until  dark, 
when  he  thought  of  bivouacking.  The  night  was  cold,  yet  he 
feared  to  make  a  fire,  lest  it  might  betray  him  to  some  lurking 
party  of  Indians.  Hobbling  his  horse  with  his  pocket  hand- 
kerchief, and  leaving  him  to  graze  on  the  margin  of  the  prairie, 
he  clambered  into  a  tree,  fixed  his  saddle  in  the  fork  of  the 
branches,  and  placing  himself  securely  with  his  back  against 
the  trunk,  prepared  to  pass  a  dreary  and  anxious  night, 
regaled  occasionally  with  the  bowlings  of  the  wolves.  He  was 
agreeably  disappointed.  The  fatigue  of  the  day  soon  brought 
on  a  sound  sleep ;  he  had  delightful  dreams  about  his  home  in 
Switzerland,  nor  did  he  wake  until  it  was  broad  daylight. 

He  then  descended  from  his  roosting-place,  mounted  his 
horse,  and  rode  to  the  naked  summit  of  a  hill,  whence  he  be- 
held a  trackless  wilderness  around  him,  but,  at  no  great  dis- 
tance, the  Grand  Canadian,  winding  its  way  between  borders 
of  forest  land.  The  sight  of  this  river  consoled  him  with  the 
idea  that,  should  he  fail  in  finding  his  way  back  to  the  camp, 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES,  121 

Or  in  being  found  by  some  party  of  his  comrades,  he  might 
follow  the  course  of  the  stream,  which  could  not  fail  to  conduct 
him  to  some  frontier  post,  or  Indian  hamlet.  So  closed  the 
events  of  our  hap-hazard  buffalo  hunt. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A  REPUBLIC  OF  PRAIRIE  DOGS. 

ON  returning  from  our  expedition  in  quest  of  the  young 
Count,  I  learned  that  a  burrow,  or  village,  as  it  is  termed,  of 
prairie  dogs  had  been  discovered  on  the  level  summit  of  a 
hill,  about  a  mile  from  the  camp.  Having  heard  much  of  the 
habits  and  peculiarities  of  these  little  animals,  I  determined  to 
pay  a  visit  to  the  community.  The  prairie  dog  is,  in  fact,  one 
of  the  curiosities  of  the  Far  West,  about  which  travellers  de- 
light to  tell  marvellous  tales,  endowing  him  at  times  with 
something  of  the  politic  and  social  habits  of  a  rational  being, 
and  giving  him  systems  of  civil  government  and  domestic 
economy,  almost  equal  to  what  they  used  to  bestow  upon  the 
beaver. 

The  prairie  dog  is  an  animal  of  the  coney  kind,  and  about 
the  size  of  a  rabbit.  He  is  of  a  sprightly  mercurial  nature; 
quick,  sensitive,  and  somewhat  petulant.  He  is  very  grega- 
rious, living  in  large  communities,  sometimes  of  several  acres 
in  extent,  where  innumerable  little  heaps  of  earth  show  the 
entrances  to  the  subterranean  cells  of  the  inhabitants,  and 
the  well  beaten  tracks,  like  lanes  and  streets,  show  their  mo- 
'bility  and  restlessness.  According  to  the  accounts  given  of 
them,  they  would  seem  to  be  continually  full  of  sport,  business, 
and  public  affairs ;  whisking  about  hither  and  thither,  as  if  on 
gossiping  visits  to  each  other's  houses,  or  congregating  in  the 
cool  of  the  evening,  or  after  a  shower,  and  gambolling  together 
in  the  open  air.  Sometimes,  especially  when  the  moon  shines, 
they  pass  half  the  night  in  revelry,  barking  or  yelping  with 
short,  quick,  yet  weak  tones,  like  those  of  very  young  puppies. 
While  in  the  height  of  their  playf  ulness  and  clamor,  however, 
should  there  be  the  least  alarm,  they  all  vanish  into  their  cells 
hi  an  instant,  and  the  village  remains  blank  and  silent.  In 
case  they  are  hard  pressed  by  their  pursuers,  without  anj 


122  A   TOUR  ON  TUB  PRAIRIES. 

hope  of  escape,  they  will  assume  a  pugnacious  air,  and  a  most 
whimsical  look  of  impotent  wrath  and  defiance. 

The  prairie  dogs  are  not  permitted  to  remain  sole  and  undis- 
turbed inhabitants  of  their  own  homes.  Owls  and  rattlesnakes 
are  said  to  take  up  their  abodes  with  them;  but  whether  as 
invited  guests  or  unwelcome  intruders,  is  a  matter  of  contro- 
versy. The  owls  are  of  a  peculiar  kind,  and  would  seem  to 
partake  of  the  character  of  the  hawk ;  for  they  are  taller  and 
more  erect  on  their  legs,  more  alert  in  their  looks  and  rapid  in 
their  flight  than  ordinary  owls,  and  do  not  confine  their  ex- 
cursions to  the  night,  but  sally  forth  in  broad  day. 

Some  say  that  they  only  inhabit  cells  which  the  prairie 
dogs  have  deserted,  and  suffered  to  go  to  rum,  in  consequence 
of  the  death  in  them  of  some  relative ;  for  they  would  make 
out  this  little  animal  to  be  endowed  with  keen  sensibilities, 
that  will  not  permit  it  to  remain  in  the  dwelling  where  it  has 
witnessed  the  death  of  a  friend.  Other  fanciful  speculators 
represent  the  owl  as  a  kind  of  housekeeper  to  the  prairie  dog ; 
and,  from  having  a  note  very  similar,  insinuate  that  it  acts, 
in  a  manner,  as  family  preceptor,  and  teaches  the  young  litter 
to  bark. 

As  to  the  rattlesnake,  nothing  satisfactory  has  been  ascer- 
tained of  the  part  he  plays  in  this  most  interesting  household ; 
though  he  is  considered  as  little  better  than  a  sycophant  and 
sharper,  that  winds  himself  into  the  concerns  of  the  honest, 
credulous  little  dog,  and  takes  him  in  most  sadly.  Certain  it 
is,  if  he  acts  as  toad-eater,  he  occasionally  solaces  himself  with 
more  than  the  usual  perquisites  of  his  order ;  as  he  is  now  and 
then  detected  with  one  of  the  younger  members  of  the  family 
in  his  maw. 

Such  are  a  few  of  the  particulars  that  I  could  gather  about 
the  domestic  economy  of  this  little  inhabitant  of  the  prairies, 
who,  with  his  pigmy  republic,  appears  to  be  a  subject  of  much 
whimsical  speculation  and  burlesque  remarks  among  the  hun- 
ters of  the  Far  West. 

It  was  toward  evening  that  I  set  out  with  a  companion,  to 
visit  the  village  in  question.  Unluckily,  it  had  been  invaded 
in  the  course  of  the  day  by  some  of  the  rangers,  who  had  shot 
two  or  three  of  its  inhabitants,  and  thrown  the  whole  sensitive 
community  in  confusion.  As  we  approached,  we  could  per- 
ceive numbers  of  the  inhabitants  seated  at  the  entrances  of 
their  cells,  while  sentinels  seemed  to  have  been  posted  on  the 
outskirts,  to  keep  a  look-out.  At  sight  of  us,  the  picket 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  123 

guards  scampered  in  and  gave  the  alarm;  whereupon  every 
inhabitant  gave  a  short  yelp,  or  bark,  and  dived  into  his  hole, 
his  heels  twinkhng  in  the  air  as  if  he  had  thrown  a  somersault. 

We  traversed  the  whole  village,  or  republic,  which  covered 
an  area  of  about  thirty  acres ;  but  not  a  whisker  of  an  inhabi- 
tant was  to  be  seen.  We  probed  their  cells  as  far  as  the  ram- 
rods of  our  rifles  would  reach,  but  could  unearth  neither  dog, 
nor  owl,  nor  rattlesnake.  Moving  quietly  to  a  little  distance, 
we  lay  down  upon  the  ground,  and  watched  for  a  long  time, 
silent  and  motionless.  By  and  by,  a  cautious  old  burgher 
would  slowly  put  forth  the  end  of  his  nose,  but  instantly  draw 
it  in  again.  Another,  at  a  greater  distance,  would  emerge 
entirely;  but,  catching  a  glance  of  us,  would  throw  a  somer- 
sault, and  plunge  back  again  into  his  hole.  At  length,  some 
who  resided  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  village,  taking  courage 
from  the  continued  stillness,  would  steal  forth,  and  hurry  off 
to  a  distant  hole,  the  residence  possibly  of  some  family  connec- 
tion, or  gossiping  friend,  about  whose  safety  they  were  solici- 
tous, or  with  whom  they  wished  to  compare  notes  about  the 
late  occurrences. 

Others,  still  more  bold,  assembled  in  little  knots,  in  the 
streets  and  public  places,  as  if  to  discuss  the  recent  outrages 
offered  to  the  commonwealth,  and  the  atrocious  murders  of 
their  fellow-burghers. 

We  rose  from  the  ground  and  moved  forward,  to  take  a 
nearer  view  of  these  public  proceedings,  when  yelp !  yelp !  yelp ! 
—there  was  a  shrill  alarm  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth;  the 
meetings  suddenly  dispersed ;  feet  twinkled  in  the  air  in  every 
direction ;  and  in  an  instant  all  had  vanished  into  the  earth. 

The  dusk  of  the  evening  put  an  end  to  our  observations,  but 
the  train  of  whimsical  comparisons  produced  in  my  brain  by 
the  moral  attributes  which  I  had  heard  given  to  these  little 
politic  animals,  still  continued  after  my  return  to  camp ;  and 
late  in  the  night,  as  I  lay  awake  after  all  the  camp  was  asleep, 
and  heard  in  the  stillness  of  the  hour,  a  faint  clamor  of  shrill 
voices  from  the  distant  village.  I  could  not  help  picturing  to 
myself  the  inhabitants  gathered  together  in  noisy  assemblage 
and  windy  debate,  to  devise  plans  for  the  public  safety,  and 
to  vindicate  the  invaded  rights  and  insulted  dignity  of  the  re- 
public. 


124  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

A  COUNCIL  IN  THE  CAMP.— REASONS  FOB  FACING  HOMEWARD.— 
HORSES  LOST. — DEPARTURE  WITH  A  DETACHMENT  ON  THE 
HOMEWARD  ROUTE. — SWAMP. — WILD  HORSE. — CAMP  SCENES  BY 
NIGHT. — THE  OWL,  HARBINGER  OF  DAWN. 

WHILE  breakfast  was  preparing,  a  council  was  held  as  to  our 
future  movements.  Symptoms  of  discontent  had  appeared  for 
a  day  or  two  past  among  the  rangers,  most  of  whom,  unaccus- 
tomed to  the  life  of  the  prairies,  had  become  impatient  of  its 
privations,  as  well  as  the  restraints  of  the  camp.  The  want  of 
bread  had  been  felt  severely,  and  they  were  wearied  with  con- 
stant travel.  In  fact,  the  novelty  and  excitement  of  the  expe- 
dition were  at  an  end.  They  had  hunted  the  deer,  the  bear,  the 
elk,  the  buffalo,  and  the  wild  horse,  and  had  no  further  object 
of  leading  interest  to  look  forward  to.  A  general  inclination 
prevailed,  therefore,  to  turn  homeward. 

Grave  reasons  disposed  the  Captain  and  his  officers  to  adopt 
this  resolution.  Our  horses  were  generally  much  jaded  by  the 
fatigues  of  travelling  and  hunting,  and  had  fallen  away  sadly 
for  want  of  good  pasturage,  and  from  being  tethered  at  night, 
to  protect  them  from  Indian  depredations.  The  late  rains,  too, 
seemed  to  have  washed  away  the  nourishment  from  the  scanty 
herbage  that  remained ;  and  since  our  encampment  during  the 
storm,  our  horses  had  lost  flesh  and  strength  rapidly.  With 
every  possible  care,  horses,  accustomed  to  grain,  and  to  the 
regular  and  plentiful  nourishment  of  the  stable  and  the  farm, 
lose  heart  and  condition  in  travelling  on  the  prairies.  In  all 
expeditions  of  the  kind  we  were  engaged  in,  the  hardy  Indian 
horses,  which  are  generally  mustangs,  or  a  cross  of  the  wild 
breed,  are  to  be  preferred.  They  can  stand  all  fatigues,  hard- 
ships, and  privations,  and  thrive  on  the  grasses  and  the  wild 
herbage  of  the  plains. 

Our  men,  too,  had  acted  with  little  forethought ;  galloping  off 
whenever  they  had  a  chance,  after  the  game  that  we  encoun- 
tered while  on  the  march.  In  this  way  they  had  strained  and 
wearied  their  horses,  instead  of  husbanding  their  strength  and 
spirits.  On  a  tour  of  the  kind,  horses  should  as  seldom  as  pos- 
sible be  put  off  of  a  quiet  walk;  and  the  average  day's  journey 
should  not  exceed  ten  miles. 

We  had  hoped,  by  pushing  forward,  to  reach  the  bottoms  of 


A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  125 

the  Red  River,  which  abound  with  young  cane,  a  most  nourish- 
ing forage  for  cattle  at  this  season  of  the  year.  It  would  now 
take  us  several  days  to  arrive  there,  and  in  the  meantime 
many  of  our  horses  would  probably  give  out.  It  was  the  time, 
too,  when  the  hunting  parties  of  Indians  set  fire  to  the  prairies ; 
the  herbage,  throughout  this  part  of  the  country,  was  in  that 
parched  state,  favorable  to  combustion,  and  there  was  daily 
more  and  more  risk  that  the  prairies  between  us  and  the  fort 
would  be  set  on  fire  by  some  of  the  return  parties  of  Osages, 
and  a  scorched  desert  left  for  us  to  traverse.  In  a  word,  we 
had  started  too  late  in  the  season,  or  loitered  too  much  in  the 
early  part  of  our  march,  to  accomplish  our  originally  intended 
tour ;  and  there  was  imminent  hazard,  if  we  continued  on,  that 
we  should  lose  the  greater  part  of  our  horses;  and,  besides 
suffering  various  other  inconveniences,  be  obliged  to  return 
on  foot.  It  was  determined,  therefore,  to  give  up  all  further 
progress,  and,  turning  our  faces  to  the  southeast,  to  make  the 
best  of  our  way  back  to  Fort  Gibson. 

This  resolution  being  taken,  there  was  an  immediate  eagerness 
to  put  it  into  operation.  Several  horses,  however,  were  miss- 
ing, and  among  others  those  of  the  Captain  and  the  Surgeon. 
Persons  had  gone  in  search  of  them,  but  the  morning  advanced 
without  any  tidings  of  them.  Our  party,  in  the  meantime, 
being  all  ready  for  a  march,  the  Commissioner  determined  to 
set  off  in  the  advance,  with  his  original  escort  of  a  lieutenant 
and  fourteen  rangers,  leaving  the  Captain  to  come  on  at  his 
convenience,  with  the  main  body.  At  ten  o'clock  we  accord- 
ingly started,  under  the  guidance  of  Beatte,  who  had  hunted 
over  this  part  of  the  country,  and  knew  the  direct  route  to  the 
garrison. 

For  some  distance  we  skirted  the  prairie,  keeping  a  south- 
east direction ;  and  in  the  course  of  our  ride  we  saw  a  variety 
of  wild  animals,  deer,  white  and  black  wolves,  buffaloes,  and 
wild  horses.  To  the  latter,  our  half-breeds  and  Tonish  gave 
ineffectual  chase,  only  serving  to  add  to  the  weariness  of  their 
already  jaded  steeds.  Indeed  it  is  rarely  that  any  but  the 
weaker  and  least  fleet  of  the  wild  horses  are  taken  in  these  hard 
racings ;  while  the  horse  of  the  huntsman  is  prone  to  be  knocked 
up.  The  latter,  in  fact,  risks  a  good  horse  to  catch  a  bad  one. 
On  this  occasion,  Tonish,  who  was  a  perfect  imp  on  horseback, 
and  noted  for  ruining  every  animal  he  bestrode,  succeeded  in 
laming  and  almost  disabling  the  powerful  gray  on  which  we 
had  mounted  him  at  the  outset  of  our  tour. 


126  ^   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

After  proceeding  a  few  miles,  we  left  the  prairie,  and  struck 
to  the  east,  taking  what  Beatte  pronounced  an  old  Osage  war- 
track.  This  led  us  through  a  rugged  tract  of  country,  over- 
grown with  scrubbed  forests  and  entangled  thickets,  and 
intersected  by  deep  ravines,  and  brisk-running  streams,  the 
eources  of  Little  River.  About  three  o'clock,  we  encamped  by 
some  pools  of  water  in  a  small  valley,  having  come  about  four- 
teen miles.  We  had  brought  on  a  supply  of  provisions  from 
our  last  camp,  and  supped  heartily  upon  stewed  buffalo  meat, 
roasted  venison,  beignets,  or  fritters  of  flour  fried  in  bear's  lard, 
and  tea  made  of  a  species  of  the  golden-rod,  which  we  had 
found,  throughout  our  whole  route,  almost  as  grateful  a  beve- 
rage as  coffee.  Indeed  our  coffee,  which,  as  long  as  it  held  out, 
had  been  served  up  with  every  meal,  according  to  the  custom 
of  the  West,  was  by  no  means  a  beverage  to  boast  of.  It  was 
roasted  in  a  frying-pan,  without  much  care,  pounded  in  a 
leathern  bag,  with  a  round  stone,  and  boiled  in  our  prime  and 
almost  only  kitchen  utensil,  the  camp  kettle,  in  ' '  branch"  or 
brook  water;  which,  on  the  prairies,  is  deeply  colored  by  the 
soil,  of  which  it  always  holds  abundant  particles  in  a  state  of 
solution  and  suspension.  In  fact,  in  the  course  of  our  tour,  we 
had  tasted  the  quality  of  every  variety  of  soil,  and  the  draughts 
of  water  we  had  taken  might  vie  in  diversity  of  color,  if  not  of 
flavor,  with  the  tinctures  of  an  apothecary's  shop.  Pure, 
limpid  water  is  a  rare  luxury  on  the  prairies,  at  least  at  this 
season  of  the  year.  Supper  over,  we  placed  sentinels  about  our 
scanty  and  diminished  camp,  spread  our  skins  and  blankets 
under  the  trees,  now  nearly  destitute  of  foliage,  and  slept 
soundly  until  morning. 

We  had  a  beautiful  daybreak.  The  camp  again  resounded 
with  cheerful  voices;  every  one  was  animated  with  the 
thoughts  of  soon  being  at  the  fort,  and  revelling  on  bread  and 
vegetables.  Even  our  saturnine  man,  Beatte,  seemed  inspired 
on  this  occasion ;  and  as  he  drove  up  the  horses  for  the  march, 
I  heard  him  singing,  in  nasal  tones,  a  most  forlorn  Indian 
ditty.  All  this  transient  gayety,  however,  soon  died  away 
amidst  the  fatigues  of  our  march,  which  lay  through  the  same 
kind  of  rough,  hilly,  thicketed  country  as  that  of  yesterday. 
In  the  course  of  the  morning  we  arrived  at  the  valley  of  the 
Little  Eiver,  where  it  wound  through  a  broad  bottom  of  allu- 
vial soil.  At  present  it  had  overflowed  its  banks,  and  inun- 
dated a  great  part  of  the  valley.  The  difficulty  was  to  distin- 
guish the  stream  from  the  broad  sheets  of  water  it  had  formed. 


A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  12*3 

and  to  find  a  place  where  it  might  be  forded ;  for  it  was  in 
general  deep  and  miry,  with  abrupt  crumbling  banks.  Under 
the  pilotage  of  Beatte,  therefore,  we  wandered  for  some  time 
among  the  links  made  by  this  winding  stream,  in  what  ap- 
peared to  us  a  trackless  labyrinth  of  swamps,  thickets,  and 
standing  pools.  Sometimes  our  jaded  horses  dragged  their 
limos  forward  with  the  utmost  difficulty,  having  to  toil  for  a 
great  distance,  with  the  water  up  to  the  stirrups,  and  beset  at 
the  bottom  with  roots  and  creeping  plants.  Sometimes  we 
had  to  force  our  way  through  dense  thickets  of  brambles  and 
grapevines,  which  almost  pulled  us  out  of  our  saddles.  In  one 
place,  one  of  the  pack-horses  sunk  in  the  mire  and  fell  on  his 
side,  so  as  to  be  extricated  with  great  difficulty.  Wherever 
the  soil  was  bare,  or  there  was  a  sand-bank,  we  beheld  in- 
numerable tracks  of  bears,  wolves,  wild  horses,  turkeys,  and 
water-fowl;  showing  the  abundant  sport  this  valley  might 
afford  to  the  huntsman.  Our  men,  however,  were  sated  with 
hunting,  and  too  weary  to  be  excited  by  these  signs,  which  in 
the  outset  of  our  tour  would  have  put  them  in  a  fever  of  antici- 
pation. Their  only  desire,  at  present,  was  to  push  on  doggedly 
for  the  fortress. 

At  length  we  succeeded  in  finding  a  fording  place,  where  we 
all  crossed  Little  River,  with  the  water  and  mire  to  the  saddle- 
girths,  and  then  halted  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  to  overhaul  the 
wet  baggage,  and  give  the  horses  time  to  rest. 

On  resuming  our  march,  we  came  to  a  pleasant  little  mea- 
dow, surrounded  by  groves  of  elms  and  cotton  wood  trees,  in 
the  midst  of  which  was  a  fine  black  horse  grazing.  Beatte, 
who  was  in  the  advance,  beckoned  us  to  halt,  and,  being 
mounted  on  a  mare,  approached  the  horse  gently,  step  by  step, 
imitating  the  whinny  of  the  animal  with  admirable  exactness. 
The  noble  courser  of  the  prairie  gazed  for  a  time,  snuffed  the 
air,  neighed,  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  pranced  round  and  round 
the  mare  in  gallant  style;  but  kept  at  too  great  a  distance  for 
Beatte  to  throw  the  lariat.  He  was  a  magnificent  object,  in 
all  the  pride  and  glory  of  his  nature.  It  was  admirable  to  see 
the  lofty  and  airy  carriage  of  his  head;  the  freedom  of  every 
movement;  the  elasticity  with  which  he  trod  the  meadow. 
Finding  it  impossible  to  get  within  noosing  distance,  and  seeing 
that  the  horse  was  receding  and  growing  alarmed,  Beatte  slid 
down  from  his  saddle,  levelled  his  rifle  across  the  back  of  his 
mare,  and  took  ami,  with  the  evident  intention  of  creasing 
him.  I  felt  a  throb  of  anxiety  for  the  safety  of  the  noble  ani- 


128  ^   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

mal,  and  called  out  to  Beatte  to  desist.  It  was  too  late-,  he 
pulled  the  trigger  as  I  spoke ;  luckily  he  did  not  shoot  with 
his  usual  accuracy,  and  I  had  the  satisfaction  to  see  the  coal- 
black  steed  dash  off  unharmed  into  the  forest. 

On  leaving  this  valley,  we  ascended  among  broken  hills  and 
rugged,  ragged  forests,  equally  harassing  to  horse  and  rider. 
The  ravines,  too,  were  of  red  clay,  and  often  so  steep  that,  in 
descending,  the  horses  would  put  their  feet  together  and  fairly 
slide  down,  and  then  scramble  up  the  opposite  side  like  cats. 
Here  and  there,  among  the  thickets  in  the  valleys,  we  met  with 
sloes  and  persimmon,  and  the  eagerness  with  which  our  men 
broke  from  the  line  of  march,  and  ran  to  gather  these  poor 
fruits,  showed  how  much  they  craved  some  vegetable  condi- 
ment, after  living  so  long  exclusively  on  animal  food. 

About  half  past  three  we  encamped  near  a  brook  in  a  mea- 
dow, where  there  was  some  scanty  herbage  for  our  half -fam- 
ished horses.  As  Beatte  had  killed  a  fat  doe  in  the  course  of 
the  day,  and  one  of  our  company  a  fine  turkey,  we  did  not  lack 
for  provisions. 

It  was  a  splendid  autumnal  evening.  The  horizon,  after 
sunset,  was  of  a  clear  apple  green,  rising  into  a  delicate  lake 
which  gradually  lost  itself  in  a  deep  purple  blue.  One  narrow 
streak  of  cloud,  of  a  mahogany  color,  edged  with  amber  and 
gold,  floated  in  the  west,  and  just  beneath  it  was  the  evening 
star,  shining  with  the  pure  brilliancy  of  a  diamond.  In  unison 
with  this  scene,  there  was  an  evening  concert  of  insects  of 
various  kinds,  all  blended  and  harmonized  into  one  sober  and 
somewhat  melancholy  note,  which  I  have  always  found  to 
have  a  soothing  effect  upon  the  mind,  disposing  it  to  quiet 
musings. 

The  night  that  succeeded  was  calm  and  beautiful.  There 
was  a  faint  light  from  the  moon,  now  in  its  second  quarter, 
and  after  it  had  set,  a  fine  starlight,  with  shooting  meteors. 
The  wearied  rangers,  after  a  little  murmuring  conversation 
round  their  fires,  sank  to  rest  at  an  early  hour,  and  I  seemed 
to  have  the  whole  scene  to  myself.  It  is  delightful,  in  thus 
bivouacking  on  the  prairies,  to  lie  awake  and  gaze  at  the  stars ; 
it  is  like  watching  them  from  the  deck  of  a  ship  at  sea,  when 
at  one  view  we  have  the  whole  cope  of  heaven.  One  realizes, 
in  such  lonely  scenes,  that  companionship  with  these  beautiful 
luminaries  which  made  astronomers  of  the  eastern  shepherds, 
as  they  watched  their  flocks  by  night.  How  often,  while  con> 
templating  their  mild  and  benignant  radiance,  I  have  called  to 


A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  128 

mind  the  exquisite  text  of  Job:  "  Canst  thou  bind  the  secret 
influences  of  the  Pleiades,  or  loose  the  bands  of  Orion?"  I  do 
not  know  why  it  was,  but  I  felt  this  night  unusually  affected 
by  the  solemn  magnificence  of  the  firmament;  and  seemed,  as 
I  lay  thus  under  the  open  vault  of  heaven,  to  inhale  with  the 
pure  untainted  air,  an  exhilarating  buoyancy  of  spirit,  and,  as  it 
were,  an  ecstasy  of  mind.  I  slept  and  waked  alternately ;  and 
when  I  slept,  my  dreams  partook  of  the  happy  tone  of  my 
waking  reveries.  Toward  morning,  one  of  the  sentinels,  the 
oldest  man  in  the  troop,  came  and  took  a  seat  near  me ;  he 
was  weary  and  sleepy,  and  impatient  to  be  relieved.  I  found 
he  had  been  gazing  at  the  heavens  also,  but  with  different 
feelings. 

"If  the  stars  don't  deceive  me,"  said  he,  "it  is  near  day- 
break." 

"There  can  be  no  doubt  of  that,"  said  Beatte,  who  lay  close 
by.  "I  heard  an  owl  just  now. " 

"  Does  the  owl,  then,  hoot  toward  daybreak?"  asked  I. 

"  Aye,  sir,  just  as  the  cock  crows." 

This  was  a  useful  habitude  of  the  bird  of  wisdom,  of  which 
I  was  not  aware.  Neither  the  stars  nor  owl  deceived  their 
votaries.  In  a  short  time  there  was  a  faint  streak  of  light  in 
the  east. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

OLD    CREEK    ENCAMPMENT.— SCARCITY   OF   PROTISIONS.— BAD 
WEATHER.— WEARY    MARCHING.— A  HUNTER'S  BRIDGE. 

THE  country  through  which  we  passed  this  morning  (Novem- 
ber 2d),  was  less  rugged,  and  of  more  agreeable  aspect  than 
^ihat  we  had  lately  traversed.  At  eleven  o'clock,  we  came  out 
upon  an  extensive  prairie,  and  about  six  miles  to  our  left  be- 
held a  long  line  of  green  forest,  marking  the  course  of  the 
north  fork  of  the  Arkansas.  On  the  edge  of  the  prairie,  and 
in  a  spacious  grove  of  noble  trees  which  overshadowed  a  small 
brook,  were  the  traces  of  an  old  Creek  hunting  camp.  On  the 
bark  of  the  trees  were  rude  delineations  of  hunters  and  squaws, 
scrawled  with  charcoal ;  together  with  various  signs  and  hiero- 
glyphics, which  our  half-breeds  interpreted  as  indicating  that 
from  this  encampment  the  hunters  had  returned  home. 


130  A  TOUR  ON  TEE  PRAIRIES. 

In  this  beautiful  camping  ground  we  made  our  mid-day  halt 
While  reposing  under  the  trees,  we  heard  a  shouting  at  no 
great  distance,  and  presently  the  Captain  and  the  main  body 
of  rangers,  whom  we  had  left  behind  two  days  since,  emerged 
from  the  thickets,  and  crossing  the  brook,  were  joyfully  wel- 
comed into  the  camp.  The  Captain  and  the  Doctor  had  been 
unsuccessful  in  the  search  after  their  horses,  and  were  obliged 
to  march  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time  on  foot ;  yet  they  had 
come  on  with  more  than  ordinary  speed. 

We  resumed  our  march  about  one  o'clock,  keeping  easterly, 
and  approaching  the  north  fork  obliquely ;  it  was  late  before 
we  found  a  good  camping  place ;  the  beds  of  the  streams  were 
dry,  the  prairies,  too,  had  been  burnt  in  various  places,  by 
Indian  hunting  parties.  At  length  we  found  water  in  a  small 
alluvial  bottom,  where  there  was  tolerable  pasturage. 

On  the  following  morning  there  were  flashes  of  lightning  in 
the  east,  with  low,  rumbling  thunder,  and  clouds  began  to 
gather  about  the  horizon.  Beatte  prognosticated  rain,  and 
that  the  wind  would  veer  to  the  north.  In  the  course  of  our 
march,  a  flock  of  brant  were  seen  overhead,  flying  from  the 
north.  "There  comes  the  wind!"  said  Beatte;  and,  in  fact,  it 
began  to  blow  from  that  quarter  almost  immediately,  with 
occasional  flurries  of  rain.  About  half  past  nine  o'clock,  we 
forded  the  north  fork  of  the  Canadian,  and  encamped  about 
one,  that  our  hunters  might  have  time  to  beat  up  the  neigh- 
borhood for  game ;  for  a  serious  scarcity  began  to  prevail  in 
the  camp.  Most  of  the  rangers  were  young,  heedless,  and 
inexperienced,  and  could  not  be  prevailed  upon,  while  pro- 
visions abounded,  to  provide  for  the  future,  by  jerking  meat, 
or  carry  away  any  on  their  horses.  On  leaving  an  encamp- 
ment, they  would  leave  quantities  of  meat  lying  about,  trust- 
ing to  Providence  and  their  rifles  for  a  future  supply.  The 
consequence  was,  that  any  temporary  scarcity  of  game,  or 
ill-luck  in  hunting,  produced  almost  a  famine  in  the  camp. 
In  the  present  instance,  they  had  left  loads  of  buffalo  meat  at 
the  camp  on  the  great  prairie ;  and,  having  ever  since  been  on 
a  forced  march,  leaving  no  time  for  hunting,  they  were  now 
destitute  of  supplies,  and  pinched  with  hunger.  Some  had  not 
eaten  anything  since  the  morning  of  the  preceding  day. 
Nothing  would  have  persuaded  them,  when  revelling  in  the 
abundance  of  the  buffalo  encampment,  that  they  would  so 
soon  be  in  such  famishing  plight. 

The  hunters  returned  with  indifferent  success.    The  game 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  131 

had  been  frightened  away  from  this  part  of  the  country  by 
Indian  hunting  parties,  which  had  preceded  us.  Ten  or  a 
dozen  wild  turkeys  were  brought  in,  but  not  a  deer  had  been 
seen.  The  rangers  began  to  think  turkeys  and  even  prairie- 
hens  deserving  of  attention;  game  which  they  had  hitherto 
considered  unworthy  of  their  rifles. 

The  night  was  cold  and  windy,  with  occasional  sprinklings 
of  rain ;  but  we  had  roaring  fires  to  keep  us  comfortable.  In 
the  night,  a  flight  of  wild  geese  passed  over  the  camp,  making 
a  great  cackling  in  the  air;  symptoms  of  approaching  winter. 

We  set  forward  at  an  early  hour  the  next  morning,  in  a 
northeast  course,  and  came  upon  the  trace  of  a  party  of  Creek 
Indians,  which  enabled  our  poor  horses  to  travel  with  more 
ease.  We  entered  upon  a  fine  champaign  country.  From  a  ris- 
ing ground  we  had  a  noble  prospect,  over  extensive  prairies, 
finely  diversified  by  groves  and  tracts  of  woodland,  and 
bounded  by  long  lines  of  distant  hills,  all  clothed  with  the 
rich  mellow  tints  of  autumn.  Game,  too,  was  more  plenty. 
A  fine  buck  sprang  up  from  among  the  herbage  on  our  right, 
and  dashed  off  at  full  speed ;  but  a  young  ranger  by  the  name 
of  Childers,  who  was  on  foot,  levelled  his  rifle,  discharged  a 
ball  that  broke  the  neck  of  the  bounding  deer,  and  sent  him 
tumbling  head  over  heels  forward.  Another  buck  and  a  doe, 
besides  several  turkeys,  were  killed  before  we  came  to  a  halt, 
so  that  the  hungry  mouths  of  the  troop  were  once  more  sup- 
plied. 

About  three  o'clock  we  encamped  in  a  grove  after  a  forced 
march  of  twenty-five  miles,  that  had  proved  a  hard  trial  to 
the  horses.  For  a  long  time  after  the  head  of  the  line  had 
encamped,  the  rest  kept  straggling  in,  two  and  three  at  a  time; 
one  of  our  pack-horses  had  given  out,  about  nine  miles  back, 
and  a  pony  belonging  to  Beatte,  shortly  after.  Many  of  the 
other  horses  looked  so  gaunt  and  feeble,  that  doubts  were 
entertained  of  their  being  able  to  reach  the  fort.  In  the  night 
there  was  heavy  rain,  and  the  morning  dawned  cloudy  and 
dismal.  The  camp  resounded,  however,  with  something  of  its 
former  gayety.  The  rangers  had  supped  well,  and  were  reno- 
vated in  spirits,  anticipating  a  speedy  arrival  at  the  garrison. 
Before  we  set  forward  on  our  march,  Beatte  returned,  and 
brought  his  pony  to  the  camp  with  great  difficulty.  The 
pack-horse,  however,  was  completely  knocked  up  and  had  to 
be  abandoned.  The  wild  mare,  to,  had  cast  her  foal,  through 
exhaustion,  and  was  not  in  a  state  to  go  forward.  She  and 


132  A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

the  pony,  therefore,  were  left  at  this  encampment,  where 
there  was  water  and  good  pasturage ;  and  where  there  would 
be  a  chance  of  their  reviving,  and  being  afterward  sought 
out  and  brought  to  the  garrison. 

We  set  off  about  eight  o'clock,  and  had  a  day  of  weary  and 
harassing  travel ;  part  of  the  time  over  rough  hills,  and  part 
over  rolling  prairies.  The  rain  had  rendered  the  soil  slippery 
and  plashy,  so  as  to  afford  unsteady  foothold.  Some  of  the 
rangers  dismounted,  their  horses  having  no  longer  strength  to 
bear  them.  We  made  a  halt  in  the  course  of  the  morning,  but 
the  horses  were  too  tired  to  graze.  Several  of  them  lay  down, 
and  there  was  some  difficulty  in  getting  them  on  their  feet 
again.  Our  troop  presented  a  forlorn  appearance,  straggling 
slowly  along,  in  a  broken  and  scattered  line,  that  extended 
over  hill  and  dale,  for  three  miles  and  upward,  in  groups  of 
three  and  four,  widely  apart;  some  on  horseback,  some  on 
foot,  with  a  few  laggards  far  in  the  rear.  About  four  o'clock, 
we  halted  for  the  night  in  a  spacious  forest,  beside  a  deep  nar- 
row river,  called  the  Little  North  Fork,  or  Deep  Creek.  It 
was  late  before  the  main  part  of  the  troop  straggled  into  the 
encampment,  many  of  the  horses  having  given  out.  As  this 
stream  was  too  deep  to  be  forded,  we  waited  until  the  next 
day  to  devise  means  to  cross  it ;  but  our  half-breeds  swam  the 
horses  of  our  party  to  the  other  side  in  the  evening,  as  they 
would  have  better  pasturage,  and  the  stream  was  evidently 
swelling.  The  night  was  cold  and  unruly ;  the  wind  sounding 
hoarsely  through  the  forest  and  whirling  about  the  dry  leaves. 
We  made  long  fires  of  great  trunks  of  trees,  which  diffused 
something  of  consolation  if  not  cheerfulness  around. 

The  next  morning  there  was  general  permission  given  to 
hunt  until  twelve  o'clock ;  the  camp  being  destitute  of  provi- 
sions. The  rich  woody  bottom  in  which  we  were  encamped 
abounded  with  wild  turkeys,  of  which  a  considerable  number 
were  killed.  In  the  meantime,  preparations  were  made  for 
crossing  the  river,  which  had  risen  several  feet  during  the 
night ;  and  it  was  determined  to  fell  trees  for  the  purpose,  to 
serve  as  bridges. 

The  Captain  and  Doctor,  and  one  or  two  other  leaders  of 
the  camp,  versed  in  woodcraft,  examined,  with  learned  eye, 
the  trees  growing  on  the  river  bank,  until  they  singled  out  a 
couple  of  the  largest  size,  and  most  suitable  inclinations.  The 
axe  was  then  vigorously  applied  to  their  roots,  in  such  a  way 
as  to  insure  their  falling  directly  across  the  stream.  As  they 


A   T9UR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  133 

did  not  reach  to  the  opposite  bank,  it  was  necessary  for  some 
of  the  men  to  swim  across  and  fell  trees  on  the  other  side,  to 
meet  them.  They  at  length  succeeded  in  making  a  precarious 
footway  across  the  deep  and  rapid  current,  by  which  the  bag- 
gage could  be  carried  over;  but  it  was  necessary  to  grope  our 
yray,  step  by  step,  along  the  trunks  and  main  branches  of  the 
trees,  which  for  a  part  of  the  distance  were  completely  sub- 
merged, so  that  we  were  to  our  waists  in  water.  Most  of  the 
horses  were  then  swam  across,  but  some  of  them  were  too 
weak  to  brave  the  current,  and  evidently  too  much  knocked 
up  to  bear  any  further  travel.  Twelve  men,  therefore,  were 
left  at  the  encampment  to  guard  these  horses,  until,  by  repose 
and  good  pasturage,  they  should  be  sufficiently  recovered  to 
complete  their  journey;  and  the  Captain  engaged  to  send  the 
men  a  supply  of  flour  and  other  necessaries,  as  soon  as  we 
should  arrive  at  the  fort. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

A.  LOOK-OUT  FOR  LAND. — HARD  TRAVELLING  AND  HUNGRY  HALT- 
ING.—A  FRONTIER  FARMHOUSE.— ARRIVAL  AT  THE  GARRISON. 

IT  was  a  little  after  one  o'clock  when  we  again  resumed  our 
weary  wayfaring.  The  residue  of  that  day  and  the  whole  of 
the  next  were  spent  in  toilsome  travel.  Part  of  the  way  was 
over  stony  hills,  part  across  wide  prairies,  rendered  spongy 
and  miry  by  the  recent  rain,  and  cut  up  by  brooks  swollen  into 
torrents.  Our  poor  horses  were  so  feeble,  that  it  was  with 
difficulty  we  could  get  them  across  the  deep  ravines  and  turbu- 
lent streams.  In  traversing  the  miry  plains,  they  slipped  and 
staggered  at  every  step,  and  most  of  us  were  obliged  to  dis- 
mount and  walk  for  the  greater  part  of  the  way.  Hunger  pre- 
vailed throughout  the  troop ;  every  one  began  to  look  anxious 
and  haggard,  and  to  feel  the  growing  length  of  each  additional 
mile.  At  one  time,  in  crossing  a  hill,  Beatte  climbed  a  high 
tree,  commanding  a  wide  prospect,  and  took  a  look-out,  like  a 
mariner  from  the  mast-head  at  sea.  He  came  down  with 
cheering  tidings.  To  the  left  he  had  beheld  a  line  of  forest 
stretching  across  the  country,  which  he  knew  to  be  the  woody 
oorder  of  the  Arkansas ;  and  at  a  distance  he  had  recognized 


134  ^   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

certain  landmarks,  from  which  he  concluded  that  we  could 
not  be  above  forty  miles  distant  from  the  fort.  It  was  like  the 
welcome  cry  of  land  to  tempest-tossed  mariners. 

In  fact  we  soon  after  saw  smoke  rising  from  a  woody  glen  at 
a  distance.  It  was  supposed  to  be  made  by  a  hunting-party  of 
Creek  or  Osage  Indians  from  the  neighborhood  of  the  fort, 
and  was  joyfully  hailed  as  a  harbinger  of  man.  It  was  now 
confidently  hoped  that  we  would  soon  arrive  among  the  fron- 
tier hamlets  of  Creek  Indians,  which  are  scattered  along  the 
skirts  of  the  uninhabited  wilderness ;  and  our  hungry  rangers 
trudged  forward  with  reviving  spirit,  regaling  themselves 
with  savory  anticipations  of  farmhouse  luxuries,  and  enume- 
rating every  article  of  good  cheer,  until  their  mouths  fairly 
watered  at  the  shadowy  feasts  thus  conjured  up. 

A  hungry  night,  however,  closed  in  upon  a  toilsome  day. 
We  encamped  on  the  border  of  one  of  the  tributary  streams  of 
the  Arkansas,  amidst  the  ruins  of  a  stately  grove  that  had 
been  riven  by  a  hurricane.  The  blast  had  torn  its  way  through 
the  forest  in  a  narrow  column,  and  its  course  was  marked  by 
enormous  trees  shivered  and  splintered,  and  upturned,  with 
their  roots  in  the  air;  all  lay  in  one  direction,  like  so  many 
brittle  reeds  broken  and  trodden  down  by  the  hunter. 

Here  was  fuel  in  abundance,  without  the  labor  of  the  axe ; 
we  had  soon  immense  fires  blazing  and  sparkling  in  the  frosty 
air,  and  lighting  up  the  whole  forest;  but,  alas!  we  had  no 
meat  to  cook  at  them.  The  scarcity  in  the  camp  almost 
amounted  to  famine.  Happy  was  he  who  had  a  morsel  of 
jerked  meat,  or  even  the  half -picked  bones  of  a  former  repast. 
For  our  part,  we  were  more  lucky  at  our  mess  than  our  neigh- 
bors; one  of  our  men  having  shot  a  turkey.  We  had  no  bread 
to  eat  with  it,  nor  salt  to  season  it  withal.  It  was  simply 
boiled  in  water ;  the  latter  was  served  up  as  soup,  and  we  were 
fain  to  rub  each  morsel  of  the  turkey  on  the  empty  salt-bag, 
in  hopes  some  saline  particle  might  remain  to  relieve  its  in- 
sipidity. 

The  night  was  biting  cold ;  the  brilliant  moonlight  sparkled 
on  the  frosty  crystals  which  covered  every  object  around  us. 
The  water  froze  beside  the  skins  on  which  we  bivouacked,  and 
in  the  morning  I  found  the  blanket  in  which  I  was  wrapped 
covered  with  a  hoar  frost ;  yet  I  had  never  slept  more  com- 
fortably. 

After  a  shadow  of  a  breakfast,  consisting  of  turkey  bones 
and  a  cup  of  coffee  without  ?n<rar,  we  decamped  at  an  early 


A   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  135 

hour;  for  hunger  is  a  sharp  quickener  on  a  journey.  The 
prairies  were  all  gemmed  with  frost,  that  covered  the  tall 
weeds  and  glistened  in  the  sun.  We  saw  great  flights  of 
prairie-hens,  or  grouse,  that  hovered  from  tree  to  tree,  or  sat 
in  rows  along  the  naked  branches,  waiting  until  the  sun  should 
melt  the  frost  from  the  weeds  and  herbage.  Our  rangers  no 
longer  despised  such  humble  game,  but  turned  from  the  ranks 
in  pursuit  of  a  prairie-hen  as  eagerly  as  they  formerly  would 
go  in  pursuit  of  a  deer. 

Every  one  now  pushed  forward,  anxious  to  arrive  at  some 
human  habitation  before  night.  The  poor  horses  were  urged 
beyond  their  strength,  in  the  thought  of  soon  being  able  to 
indemnify  them  for  present  toil,  by  rest  and  ample  provender. 
Still  the  distances  seemed  to  stretch  out  more  than  ever,  and 
the  blue  hills,  pointed  out  as  landmarks  on  the  horizon,  to 
recede  as  we  advanced.  Every  step  became  a  labor;  every 
now  and  then  a  miserable  horse  would  give  out  and  lie  down. 
His  owner  would  raise  him  by  main  strength,  force  him  for- 
ward to  the  margin  of  some  stream,  where  there  might  be  a 
scanty  border  of  herbage,  and  then  abandon  him  to  his  fate. 
Among  those  that  were  thus  left  on  the  way,  was  one  of  the 
led  horses  of  the  Count ;  a  prime  hunter,  that  had  taken  the 
lead  of  every  thing  in  the  chase  of  the  wild  horses.  It  was 
intended,  however,  as  soon  as  we  should  arrive  at  the  fort,  tc 
send  out  a  party  provided  with  corn,  to  bring  in  such  of  the 
horses  as  should  survive. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning,  we  came  upon  Indian  tracks, 
crossing  each  other  in  various  directions,  a  proof  that  we  must 
be  in  the  neighborhood  of  human  habitations.  At  length,  on 
passing  through  a  skirt  of  wood,  we  beheld  two  or  three  log 
houses,  sheltered  under  lofty  trees  on  the  border  of  a  prairie, 
the  habitations  of  Creek  Indians,  who  had  small  farms  adja- 
cent. Had  they  been  sumptuous  villas,  abounding  with  the 
luxuries  of  civilization,  they  could  not  have  been  hailed  with 
greater  delight. 

Some  of  the  rangers  rode  up  to  them  in  quest  of  food ;  the 
greater  part,  however,  pushed  forward  in  search  of  the  habita- 
tion of  a  white  settler,  which  we  were  told  was  at  no  great  dis- 
tance. The  troop  soon  disappeared  among  the  trees,  and  1 
followed  slowly  in  their  track;  for  my  once  fleet  and  generous 
steed  faltered  under  me,  and  was  just  able  to  drag  one  foot 
after  the  other,  yet  I  was  too  weary  and  exhausted  to  spare  him. 

In  this  way  we  crept  on,  until,  on  turning  a  thick  clump  of 


136  -4   TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 

trees,  a  frontier  farmhouse  suddenly  presented  itself  to  view. 
It  was  a  low  tenement  of  logs,  overshadowed  by  great  forest 
trees,  but  it  seemed  as  if  a  very  region  of  Cocaigne  prevailed 
around  it.  Here  was  a  stable  and  barn,  and  granaries  teem- 
ing with  abundance,  while  legions  of  grunting  swine,  gobbling 
turkeys,  cackling  hens  and  strutting  roosters,  swarmed  about 
the  farmyard. 

My  poor  jaded  and  half -famished  horse  raised  his  head  and 
pricked  up  his  ears  at  the  well-known  sights  and  sounds.  He 
gave  a  chuckling  inward  sound,  something  like  a  dry  laugh ; 
whisked  his  tail,  and  made  great  leeway  toward  a  corn-crib, 
filled  with  golden  ears  of  maize,  and  it  was  with  some  difficulty 
that  I  could  control  his  course,  and  steer  him  up  to  the  door 
of  the  cabin.  A  single  glance  within  was  sufficient  to  raise 
every  gastronomic  faculty.  There  sat  the  Captain  of  the 
rangers  and  his  officers,  round  a  three-legged  table,  crowned 
by  a  broad  and  smoking  dish  of  boiled  beef  and  turnips.  I 
sprang  off  my  horse  in  an  instant,  cast  him  loose  to  make  his 
way  to  the  corn-crib,  and  entered  this  palace  of  plenty.  A  fat 
good-humored  negress  received  me  at  the  door.  She  was  the 
mistress  of  the  house,  the  spouse  of  the  white  man,  who  was 
absent.  I  hailed  her  as  some  swart  fairy  of  the  wild,  that  had 
suddenly  conjured  up  a  banquet  in  the  desert;  and  a  banquet 
was  it  in  good  sooth.  In  a  twinkling,  she  lugged  from  the  fire 
a  huge  iron  pot,  that  might  have  rivalled  one  of  the  famous 
flesh-pots  of  Egypt,  or  the  witches'  caldron  in  Macbeth. 
Placing  a  brown  earthen  dish  on  the  floor,  ehe  inclined  the 
corpulent  caldron  on  one  side,  and  out  leaped  sundry  great 
morsels  of  beef,  with  a  regiment  of  turnips  tumbling  after 
them,  and  a  rich  cascade  of  broth  overflowing  the  whole. 
This  she  handed  me  with  an  ivory  smile  that  extended  from 
ear  to  ear;  apologizing  for  our  humble  fare,  and  the  humble 
style  in  which  it  was  served  up.  Humble  fare !  humble  style ! 
Boiled  beef  and  turnips,  and  an  earthen  dish  to  eat  them  from ! 
To  think  of  apologizing  for  such  a  treat  to  a  half -starved  man 
from  the  prairies;  and  then  such  magnificent  slices  of  bread 
and  butter !  Head  of  Apicius,  what  a  banquet ! 

"The  rage  of  hunger"  being  appeased,  I  began  to  think  of 
my  horse.  He,  however,  like  an  old  campaigner,  had  taken 
good  care  of  himself.  I  found  him  paying  assiduous  attention 
to  the  crib  of  Indian  corn,  and  dexterously  drawing  forth  and 
munching  the  ears  that  protruded  between  the  bars.  It  was 
with  great  regret  that  I  interrupted  his  repast,  which  be 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  137 

abandoned  with  a  heavy  sigh,  or  rather  a  rumbling  groan.  1 
was  anxious,  however,  to  rejoin  my  travelling  companions, 
who  had  passed  by  the  farmhouse  without  stopping,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  the  banks  of  the  Arkansas;  being  in  hopes  of  arriv* 
ing  before  night  at  the  Osage  Agency.  Leaving  the  Captain 
and  his  troop,  therefore,  amidst  the  abundance  of  the  farm, 
where  they  had  determined  to  quarter  themselves  for  the  night, 
1  bade  adieu  to  our  sable  hostess,  and  again  pushed  forward. 

A  ride  of  about  a  mile  brought  me  to  where  my  comrades 
were  waiting  on  the  banks  of  the  Arkansas,  which  here  poured 
along  between  beautiful  forests.  A  number  of  Creek  Indians, 
in  their  brightly  colored  dresses,  looking  like  so  many  gay 
tropical  birds,  were  busy  aiding  our  men  to  transport  the  bag- 
gage across  the  river  in  a  canoe.  While  this  was  doing,  our 
horses  had  another  regale  from  two  great  cribs  heaped  up 
with  ears  of  Indian  corn,  which  stood  near  the  edge  of  th« 
river.  We  had  to  keep  a  check  upon  the  poor  half-famished 
animals,  lest  they  should  injure  themselves  by  their  voracity. 

The  baggage  being  all  carried  to  the  opposite  bank,  we  em- 
barked in  the  canoe,  and  swam  our  horses  across  the  river.  I 
was  fearful,  lest  in  their  enfeebled  state,  they  should  not  be 
able  to  stem  the  current ;  but  their  banquet  of  Indian  corn  had 
already  infused  fresh  life  and  spirit  into  them,  and  it  would 
appear  as  if  they  were  cheered  by  the  instinctive  conscious- 
ness of  their  approach  to  home,  where  they  would  soon  be  at 
rest,  and  in  plentiful  quarters ;  for  no  sooner  had  we  landed 
and  resumed  our  route,  than  they  set  off  on  a  hand-gallop,  and 
continued  so  for  a  great  part  of  seven  miles,  that  we  had  to 
ride  through  the  woods. 

It  was  an  early  hour  in  the  evening  when  we  arrived  at  the 
Agency,  on  the  banks  of  the  Verdigris  River,  whence  we  had 
set  off  about  a  month  before.  Here  we  passed  the  night  com- 
fortably quartered;  yet,  after  having  been  accustomed  to 
sleep  in  the  open  air,  the  confinement  of  a  chamber  was,  in 
some  respects,  irksome.  The  atmosphere  seemed  close,  and 
destitute  of  freshness;  and  when  I  woke  in  the  night  and 
gazed  about  me  upon  complete  darkness,  I  missed  the  glorious 
companionship  of  the  stars. 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  I  again  set  forward,  in 
company  with  the  worthy  Commissioner,  for  Fort  Gibson, 
where  we  arrived  much  tattered,  travel-stained,  and  weather- 
beaten,  but  in  high  health  and  spirits;— and  thus  ended  my 
foray  into  the  Pawnee  Hunting  Grounds. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


JAW  11  1951 

MAR  1  0  1951 


ttfl'D 

MAR  8    196 
FEB201968 


...--UMW. 
fl    MAY 07199) 


APR  0 


Form  L9 — 15m-10,'48  (B1039 ) 444 


WC'D 


AN  2 1199 

C'D  URL  CIRC 


S; 

RE; 


•n.1 

ANGELES 


L  005  794  456  3 


